THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

DAVIS 


GIFT  OF 

WILSON  SMITH 


SEASON  AND  FAITH, 


AND 


OTHER    MISCELLANIES 


OP 


HENRY     ROGERS, 


"THE   ECLIPSE    OF   FAITH." 


SECOND   THOUSAND. 


BOSTON: 
CROSBY,   NICHOLS,   AND    COMPANY. 

NEW    YORK: 

CHARLES  S.  FRANCIS  AND  COMPANY. 

1853. 

LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


CAMBRIDGE:  METCALF  AND  COMPANY, 
PRIMERS  TO  THE  PNIYERSITT. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 
LIFE   AND   WHITINGS   OF   THOMAS   FULLER 1 

ANDREW   MAEVELL        .  ,  ,  .  r          •  .  .  .  42 

LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER     .    "  ..  .        .      90 

GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  PASCAL  .    '..•-..       .  -  .       .       141 

SACRED  ELOQUENCE  I  THE  BRITISH  PULPIT        .       .  .       .197 

THE  VANITY  AND  GLORY  OF  LITERATURE      .       .  .""'.  .  •     241 

RIGHT  OF  PRIVATE  JUDGMENT    .....  .       .    290 

REASON  AND  FAITH:  THEIR  CLAIMS  AND  CONFLICTS  339 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  THOMAS  FULLER.* 


THE  republication,  within  the  last  few  years,  of  all  the 
principal  works  of  this  singular  author,  affords  us  an  oppor 
tunity,  by  no  means  unwelcome,  of  canvassing  his  merits, 
and  assigning  him  his  proper  niche  in  the  temple  of  our  lit 
erature.  Nor  is  it  necessary,  we  are  sure,  to  make  any  apol 
ogy  for  dedicating  a  few  of  our  pages  to  such  a  subject.  He 
cannot  be  unworthy  of  attention,  who  was  a  favorite  author 
of  Coleridge  and  Lamb,  and  of  whom  the  former  (certainly 
in  a  moment  of  unreflecting  enthusiasm)  could  write  thus: 
"  Next  to  Shakspeare,!  am  not  certain  whether  Thomas  Ful 
ler,  beyond  all  other  writers,  does  not  excite  in  me  the  sense 
and  emotion  of  the  marvellous  ;  —  the  degree  in  which  any 
given  faculty,  or  combination  of  faculties,  is  possessed  and 
manifested,  so  far  surpassing  what  one  would  have  thought 
possible  in  a  single  mind,  as  to  give  one's  admiration  the 


*  "Edinburgh  Review,"  January,  1842. 

1.  The  Church  History  of  Britain.     By  THOMAS  FULLER,  D.  D.    New 
Edition.    3  vols.     8vo.     London.     1831. 

2.  The   Worthies  of  England.     By  THOMAS  FULLER,  D.  D.     New 
Edition.     3  vols.     8vo.     London.     1840. 

3.  The  History  of 'the  Holy  War.    By  THOMAS  FULLER,  D.  D.     New 
Edition.     12mo.    London.     1840. 

4.  The  Holy  State  and  the  Profane  State.      By  THOMAS  FULLER, 
D.  D.     New  Edition.     8vo.     London.     1841. 

5.  Good  Thoughts  in  Bad  Times^  and  Good  Thoughts  in  Worse  Times. 
By  THOMAS  FULLER,  D.  D.    New  Edition.    12mo.    London.     1840. 

1 


2  LIFE   AND  WRITINGS    OF    THOMAS    FULLER. 

flavor  and  quality  of  wonder."  Let  this  statement  of  a  critic, 
the  soundness  of  whose  judgments,  though  they  are  generally 
correct,  and  often  admirable,  cannot  always  be  relied  upon, 
require  what  abatement  it  may,  it  may  be  safely  said,  that 
there  is  scarcely  any  writer,  whose  intellectual  character  will 
better  repay  an  attempt  at  analysis  than  that  of  Fuller. 

We  set  about  our  task  the  more  willingly,  as  we  believe  it 
to  be  an  act  of  bare  justice.  We  are  convinced  that  pos 
terity  has  dealt  hardly  by  his  memory,  and  that  there  are 
hundreds  who  have  been  better  remembered  with  far  less 
claims  to  that  honor.  Thus,  it  is  singular  that  even  Mr.  Hal- 
lam,  in  his  recent  "  History  of  European  Literature,"  should 
not  have  bestowed  upon  him  any  special  notice ;  dismissing 
him  with  only  a  slight  allusion,  in  a  note  upon  another  sub 
ject.*  Yet  Fuller  was  not  only  one  of  the  most  voluminous, 
—  an  equivocal  indication  of  merit,  it  must  be  allowed, — 
but  "one  of  the  most  original  writers  of  our  language.  If  he 
had  merely  resembled  those  of  his  dull  contemporaries,  who 
wrote  apparently  for  writing's  sake,  —  without  genius  or  fan 
cy,  without  any  of  those  graces  of  thought  or  diction,  which 
have  a  special  claim  on  the  historian  of  literature  ;  —  if  his 
folios  had  been  collections  of  third-rate  sermons  or  heavy 
commentaries ;  of  commonplace  spread  out  to  the  last  de 
gree  of  tenuity,  scarcely  tolerable  even  in  the  briefest  form 
in  which  truisms  can  be  addressed  to  our  impatience,  and 
perfectly  insupportable  when  prolonged  into  folios,  —  there 
would  be  sufficient  reason  for  the  critic's  neglect.  But  it  is 
far  otherwise ;  though  Fuller's  works,  like  those  of  many  of 

*  Hallam,  Vol.  III.  p.  104.  It  must  not  be  supposed  that  any  serious 
censure  of  Mr.  Hallara's  great  work  is  here  intended.  If  it  be  singular 
that  Fuller  has  been  so  summarily  dealt  with,  it  would  have  been  far 
more  singular  had  there  been  no  important  omissions.  The  real  wonder 
is,  that  the  author  should  have  been  able  at  all  to  dispose  of  subjects,  so 
immense  and  so  multifarious,  in  so  moderate  a  compass ;  to  daguerreo 
type  so  boundless  a  landscape,  on  so  small  a  surface,  with  such  fidelity 
and  distinctness. 


LIFE    AND   WRITINGS    OF    THOMAS    FULLER.  3 

his  contemporaries,  are  sometimes  covered  with  rubbish,  and 
swollen  with  redundances,  they  are,  as  is  the  case  also  with 
some  of  them,  instinct  with  genius.  Like  Taylor,  and  Bar 
row,  and  Sir  Thomas  Brown,  he  wrote  with  a  vigor  and  orig 
inality,  with  a  fertility  of  thought  and  imagery,  and  a  gen 
eral  felicity  of  style,  which,  considering  the  quantity  of  his 
compositions,  and  the  haste  with  which  he  produced  them, 
impress  us  with  wonder  at  his  untiring  activity  and  preternat 
ural  fecundity.  He  has  scattered  with  careless  prodigality, 
over  the  pages  of  his  many  works,  thoughts  and  images 
which,  if  collected,  properly  disposed,  and  purified  from  the 
worthless  matter  which  incrusts,  and  often  buries  them, 
would  have  insured  him  a  place  beside  those  who,  by  writing 
less  and  elaborating  it  more,  by  concentrating  their  strength 
on  works  of  moderate  compass  and  high  finish,  have  secured 
themselves  a  place,  not  only  in  the  libraries,  but  in  the  mem 
ories,  of  their  readers  ;  and  are  not  simply  honored  with  an 
occasional  reference,  but  live  in  perpetual  and  familiar  quo 
tation. 

Before  proceeding  further  with  the  analysis  of  Fuller's  in 
tellectual  character,  it  may  be  advisable  to  give  a  rapid  sketch 
of  the  principal  events  of  his  life. 

He  was  born  in  1608,  at  Aldwincle,  in  Northamptonshire  ; 
his  father  was  the  Rev.  T.  Fuller,  rector  of  St.  Peter's  in 
that  village.  His  early  education  seems  to  have  been  con 
ducted  chiefly  under  the  paternal  roof,  and  that  so  success 
fully,  that  at  twelve  years  of  age  he  was  sent  to  Queen's 
College,  Cambridge  ;  the  master  of  which  was  his  maternal 
uncle,  Dr.  Davenant,  afterwards  Bishop  of  Salisbury.  In 
1624  -  5,  he  took  his  degree  of  B.  A.,  and  that  of  M.  A.  in 
1628.  He  then  removed  to  Sidney  College,  and,  after  a 
short  interval,  was  chosen  minister  of  St.  Bennett's,  Cam 
bridge,  where  his  great  talents  as  a  preacher  soon  rendered 
him  extremely  popular.  Preferment  now  came  rapidly.  In 
1631,  he  was  chosen  fellow  of  Sidney  College,  and  made  a 
prebendary  of  Salisbury.  The  same  year  was  signalized  by 


4  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS    OF    THOMAS    FULLER. 

his  maiden  publication.  Like  many  other  men  of  powerful 
imagination,  who  have  eventually  distinguished  themselves  as 
prose-writers,  he  had  in  early  life  toyed  a  little  with  the 
Muses.  His  first  work  was  poetical,  and  we  may  be  sure 
that  it  was  steeped  in  the  quaintness  which  was  equally  char 
acteristic  of  the  age  and  of  the  individual.  The  very  title,  in 
deed,  smacks  of  that  love  of  alliteration  of  which  his  writ 
ings  are  so  full.  It  was  entitled  "  David's  Heinous  Sin, 
Hearty  Repentance,  and  Heavy  Punishment."  It  is  now 
extremely  scarce.  Peace  to  its  ashes !  its  author's  prose 
writings  have  a  better  and  a  surer  claim  to  remembrance. 

Soon  after  entering  priest's  orders,  he  was  presented  to  the 
rectory  of  Broad  Winsor,  in  Dorsetshire.  In  1635,  he  re 
paired  again  to  Cambridge,  to  take  his  degree  of  Bachelor  of 
Divinity ;  and,  on  his  return  to  Broad  Winsor,  got  rid  of  an 
other  kind  of  bachelorship  in  a  happy  marriage.  This  event 
took  place  in  1638 ;  but  his  felicity  was  not  of  long  con 
tinuance.  After  giving  birth  to  one  son,  his  wife  died, 
about  the  year  1641.  In  the  quietude  of  Broad  Winsor  "  he 
began  to  complete, "  to  use  a  curious  phrase  of  one  of  his 
biographers,  "  several  works  he  had  planned  at  Cambridge  "  ; 
but,  getting  sick  of  solitude,  and  impatient  to  know  something 
more  of  public  affairs,  he  repaired  to  London,  where  his  pul 
pit  talents  soon  obtained  him  an  invitation  to  the  lectureship 
of  the  Savoy.  In  1640  he  published  his  deservedly  cele 
brated  "  History  of  the  Holy  War,"  which  gained  him  some 
money  and  more  reputation.  He  was  a  member  of  the  Con 
vocation  which  assembled  at  Westminster  in  1640,  and  has 
left  us  a  minute  account  of  its  proceedings  in  his  "  Church 
History."  In  1642  he  preached  at  Westminster  Abbey,  on 
the  anniversary  of  the  king's  inauguration ;  and  the  sermon 
contained  some  dangerous  allusions  to  the  state  of  public 
affairs.  His  text  was  characteristic  :  —  "  Yea,  let  him  take 
all,  so  that  my  lord  the  king  return  in  peace."  The  sermon, 
when  printed,  gave  great  umbrage  to  the  Parliamentary  par 
ty,  and  involved  the  preacher  in  no  little  odium.  In  this  year 


LIFE    AND   WRITINGS    OF    THOMAS    FULLER.  5 

he  published  his  best  and  most  popular  work,  entitled  "  The 
Holy  and  Profane  State."  Refusing  to  take  an  oath  to  the 
Parliament,  except  with  certain  reservations,  Fuller  now  left 
London,  and  repaired  to  the  king  at  Oxford,  by  whom  he  was 
well  received.  The  king  was  anxious  to  hear  him  preach. 
Fuller  t complied ;  but,  strange  to  say,  he  managed  to  dis 
please  the  royalists  as  much  as  he  had  before  displeased  the 
patriots.  His  ill-success  on  both  occasions  may  be  taken  as 
an  argument  of  his  sincerity  and  moderation,  whatever  may 
be  thought  of  his  worldly  wisdom. 

During  his  stay  at  Oxford  he  resided  at  Lincoln  College  ; 
but  he  was  not  long  to  escape  the  cup  which,  in  those  sad 
times,  came  round  to  all  parties.  Sequestration  was  pro 
nounced  against  him,  and  was  embittered  by  the  loss  of  all 
his  books  and  manuscripts.  This  misfortune  was  partly  re 
paired  by  the  generosity  of  Henry  Lord  Beauchamp  and  Lio 
nel  Cranfield,  Earl  of  Middlesex,  —  the  latter  of  whom  be 
stowed  upon  him  the  remains  of  his  father's  library.  In  or 
der  to  obviate  the  suspicion  of  indifference  to  the  king's  cause, 
he  now  sought  and  obtained,  from  Sir  Ralph  Hopton,  a  chap 
laincy  in  the  royal  army ;  and  employed  his  leisure,  while 
rambling  through  the  country,  in  collecting  materials  for  his 
future  work,  "  The  Worthies  of  England."  It  appears  that, 
in  his  capacity  of  chaplain,  he  could,  on  occasion,  beat  u  drum 
ecclesiastic  "  as  well  as  any  of  the  preachers  in  Cromwell's 
army  ;  for  we  are  told,  that,  when  a  party  of  the  royalists 
were  besieged  at  Basinghouse,  Fuller  animated  the  garrison 
to  so  vigorous  a  defence,  that  Sir  William  Waller  was  com 
pelled  to  abandon  the  siege.  When  the  royal  forces  were 
driven  into  Cornwall,  Fuller,  taking  refuge  in  Exeter,  resumed 
his  studies,  and  preached  regularly  to  the  citizens.  During 
his  stay  here,  he  was  appointed  chaplain  to  the  Princess  Hen 
rietta  Maria  (then  an  infant),  and  was  presented  to  the  living 
of  Dorchester.  He  was  present  at  the  siege  of  Exeter,  in 
the  course  of  which  an  incident  occurred,  so  curious  in  itself, 
and  narrated  by  Fuller  (who  vouches  for  the  truth  of  his 
i* 


0  LIFE   AND   WRITINGS    OF    THOMAS    FULLER. 

statement)  in  so  characteristic  a  style,  that  no  apology  is 
necessary  for  inserting  his  account  of  it  here ;  leaving  the 
reader  to  philosophize  upon  it  in  any  way  that  may  seem  to 
him  most  proper.  The  extract  is  from  "  The  Worthies  of 
England  "  :  —  "  When  the  city  of  Exeter  was  besieged  by 
the  Parliamentary  forces,  so  that  only  the  south  side  thereof, 
towards  the  sea,  was  open  unto  it,  incredible  numbers  of 
larks  were  found  in  that  open  quarter,  for  multitude  like 
quails  in  the  wildernesse,  though  (blessed  be  God  !)  unlike 
them  both  in  cause  and  effect  ^  as  not  desired  with  man's 
destruction,  nor  sent  with  God's  anger,  as  appeared  by  their 
safe  digestion  into  wholesome  nourishment :  hereof  I  was  an 
eye  and  a  mouth  witnesse.  I  will  save  my  credit  in  not  con 
jecturing  any  number,  knowing  that  herein,  though  I  should 
stoop  beneath  the  truth,  I  should  mount  above  belief.  They 
were  as  fat  as  plentiful ;  so  that,  being  sold  for  twopence 
a  dozen  and  under,  the  poor,  who  could  have  no  cheaper,  as 
the  rich  no  better  meat,  used  to  make  pottage  of  them,  boyl- 
ing  them  down  therein.  Several  natural  causes  were  as 
signed  hereof. However,  the  cause  of  causes  was 

Divine  Providence." 

After  the  taking  of  Exeter,  Fuller  once  more  repaired  to 
London,  where  he  obtained  the  lectureship  at  St.  Clement's, 
Lombard  Street,  and  subsequently  that  of  St.  Bride's,  Fleet 
Street.  He  does  not  appear  to  have  long  discharged  the 
functions  of  either,  "  having  been  forbidden,"  to  use  his  own 
language,  "  till  further  order,  the  exercise  of  his  public 
preaching."  Silenced  though  he  was,  however,  this  did  not 
prevent  his  being  presented,  in  1648,  to  the  living  of  Wal- 
tham.  For  this  he  was  indebted  to  the  Earl  of  Carlisle,  to 
whom  he  had  become  chaplain.  To  men  of  less  activity  of 
mind,  and  less  zealous  to  do  good,  compulsory  silence  might 
have  been  no  unacceptable  concomitant  of  a  rich  living ;  but 
not  to  Fuller.  This  year  and  the  following  he  spent  chiefly 
in  the  preparation  of  one  of  the  quaintest  of  all  his  writings, 
—  his  "  Pisgah-sight  of  Palestine  and  the  Confines  thereof, 


LIFE    AND    WRITINGS    OF   THOMAS    FULLER.  7 

with  the  History  of  the  Old  and  New  Testaments  acted  there 
on."  The  work  was  illustrated  by  several  curious  engrav 
ings,  in  which  the  artists  seemed  to  have  vied  in  quaintness 
with  the  author,  and  which  are  as  characteristic  of  the  spirit 
of  the  age  as  the  letter-press  which  accompanied  them.  In 
the  two  or  three  following  years  he  published  several  tracts 
and  sermons,  which  have  long  since  passed  into  oblivion.  In 
1654  he  married  again,  and  into  a  noble  family  ;  his  wife 
being  the  sister  of  Viscount  Baltinglass.  In  1655,  as  Mr. 
Chalmers  tells  us,  he  persisted  in  the  discharge  of  his  minis 
terial  functions,  "  notwithstanding  Cromwell's  prohibition  of 
all  persons  from  preaching  or  teaching  schools,  who  had  been 
adherents  of  the  late  king."  We  shall  not  stop  to  inquire 
whether  the  biographer  has  been  altogether  just  to  Cromwell, 
in  omitting  to  state  that  the  ordinance  in  question  was  imme 
diately  modified,  on  Archbishop  Usher's  representation  of  its 
hardship,  and  its  application  limited  to  such  clergymen  as 
had  been  political  offenders.  It  is  more  to  our  purpose  to 
observe,  that  we  may  account  for  Fuller's  continuing  to 
preach,  without  either  accusing  him  of  rash  zeal,  or  praising 
him  for  conscientious  resistance ;  inasmuch  as  he  was  duly 
authorized  so  to  do  by  the  Court  of  "  Triers,"  before  whom 
he  had  been  examined.  Calamy  has  given  us  a  droll  ac 
count  of  Fuller's  perplexities  when  summoned  to  this  ordeal. 
He  doubtless  had  some  misgivings  as  to  whether  he  might  be 
able  to  answer  satisfactorily  all  the  inquisitorial  inquiries  of 
this  strange  court ;  and  whether  he  might  not  get  limed  by 
some  of  their  theological  subtilties.  In  this  dilemma,  he  ap 
plied  to  the  celebrated  John  Howe  (then  one  of  Cromwell's 
chaplains),  whose  catholic  spirit  ever  prompted  him  to  exert 
whatever  influence  he  possessed  in  behalf  of  the  good  men 
of  all  parties.  "  You  may  observe,  Sir,"  said  Fuller  to  him, 
"  that  I  am  a  somewhat  corpulent  man,  and  I  am  to  go 
through  a  very  strait  passage.  I  beg  you  would  be  so  good 
as  to  give  me  a  shove,  and  help  me  through."  Howe  gave 
him  the  best  advice  in  his  power.  When  the  "  Triers  "  in- 


8  LIFE    AND   WRITINGS    OF    THOMAS    FULLER. 

quired,  "  whether  he  had  ever  had  any  experience  of  a  work 
of  grace  in  his  heart  ?  "  Fuller  replied,  in  terms  of  cautious 
generality,  that  "  he  could  appeal  to  the  Searcher  of  all 
hearts,  that  he  made  a  conscience  of  his  very  thoughts  "  ;  — 
implying,  doubtless,  that  it  was  not  without  the  most  diligent 
investigation  of  his  motives,  that  he  had  ventured  on  the 
sacred  office.  With  this  answer  they  were  satisfied,  and  it 
was,  perhaps,  well  for  Fuller  that  it  was  not  more  specific. 

In  1656,  he  published  his  "  Church  History  of  Great 
Britain,"  to  which  was  appended  "  The  History  of  the  Uni 
versity  of  Cambridge,"  and  "  The  History  of  Waltham  Ab 
bey."  His  "  Church  History  "  called  forth  some  animad 
versions  from  Dr.  Heylyn,  to  which  Fuller  replied.  In  1658, 
Lord  Berkeley,  one  of  his  many  patrons,  made  him  his  chap 
lain,  and  presented  him  to  the  rectory  of  Cranford  in  Middle 
sex.  Just  before  the  Restoration,  he  was  reinstated  in  his 
lectureship  in  the  Savoy,  as  also  in  his  prebend  at  Salisbury  ; 
and,  shortly  after  that  event,  was  appointed  chaplain  extra 
ordinary  to  the  king,  and  created  Doctor  of  Divinity  by  manda 
mus.  He  was  within  sight  of  a  bishopric,  when  death  brought 
all  his  earthly  prospects  to  a  close,  in  1661.  He  was  buried 
in  his  church  at  Cranford,  in  the  chancel  of  which  there  is  a 
monument  to  his  memory.  The  Latin  inscription,  which  has 
the  rare  merit  of  telling  but  little  more  than  the  truth,  closes 
with  an  antithetical  conceit,  so  much  in  Fuller's  vein,  that  it 
would  have  done  his  heart  good,  could  he  but  have  read  the 

following  sentence  :  —  "  Hie  jacet  Thomas  Fuller 

Qui  dum  viros  Anglise  illustres  opere  posthumo  immortali- 
tate  consecrare  meditatus  est,  ipse  immortalitatem  est  conse- 
cutus."  This  alludes  to  "  The  Worthies  of  England,"  partly 
printed  before  his  death,  but  published  by  his  son. 

Fuller  is  one  of  the  few  voluminous  authors  who  are  never 
tedious.  No  matter  where  we  pitch,  we  are  sure  to  alight 
on  something  which  stimulates  attention  ;  and  perhaps  there 
is  no  author  equally  voluminous,  to  whom  we  could  so  fear- 


LIFE   AND    WRITINGS    OF    THOMAS    FULLER.  9 

lessly  apply  the  ad  aperturam  libri  test.  Let  the  subject  be 
ever  so  dry  or  barren,  he  is  sure  to  surround  it  with  some  un 
looked-for  felicity,  or  at  least  some  entertaining  oddity  of 
thought  or  expression :  the  most  meagre  matter  of  fact  shall 
suggest  either  some  solid  reflection  or  curious  inference, 
some  ingenious  allusion  or  humorous  story  ;  or,  if  nothing 
better,  some  sportive  alliteration  or  ludicrous  pun.  To  this 
must  be  added,  that  his  reflections  and  his  images  are  in 
general  so  exceedingly  novel,  (often,  it  is  true,  far-fetched 
and  quaint  enough,  but  often  also  very  beautiful,)  that  they 
surprise  as  well  as  please  ;  and  please  in  a  great  measure  by 
surprising  us.  Probably  there  is  no  author  who  so  often 
breaks  upon  his  readers  with  turns  of  thought  for  which  they 
are  totally  unprepared ;  nor  would  it  be  unamusing  to  watch 
the  countenance  of  any  intelligent  man  while  perusing  his 
pages.  We  will  venture  to  say,  that  few  other  writers  in  the 
English  language  could  produce  more  rapid  variations  of  ex 
pression.  We  should  see  the  face,  in  succession,  mantling 
with  a  smile,  —  distended  into  a  broad  grin, —  breaking  out 
into  loud  laughter ;  the  eyebrows  now  arched  to  an  expres 
sion  of  sudden  wonder  and  pleased  surprise ;  the  whole 
visage  now  clouded  with  a  momentary  shade  of  vexation 
over  some  wanton  spoiling  of  a  fine  thought,  now  quieted 
again  into  placidity  by  the  presentation  of  something  truly 
wise  or  beautiful,  and  anon  chuckling  afresh  over  some  out 
rageous  pun  or  oddity.  The  same  expression  could  not  be 
maintained  for  any  three  paragraphs,  —  perfect  gravity 
scarcely  for  three  sentences. 

The  activity  of  Fuller's  suggestive  faculty  must  have  been 
immense.  Though  his  principal  characteristic  is  wit,  and 
that  too  so  disproportionate,  that  it  conceals  in  its  ivy-like 
luxuriance  the  robust  wisdom  about  which  it  coils  itself,  his 
illustrations  are  drawn  from  every  source  and  quarter,  and 
are  ever  ready  at  his  bidding.  In  the  variety,  frequency,  and 
novelty  of  his  illustrations,  he  strongly  resembles  two  of  the 
most  imaginative  writers  in  our  language,  though  in  all  other 


10  LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF   THOMAS   FULLER. 

respects  still  more  unlike  them  than  they  were  unlike  one 
another,  —  Jeremy  Taylor  and  Edmund  Burke.  Each,  in 
deed,  has  his  peculiar  characteristics,  even  in  those  very 
points  in  which  they  may  be  compared.  The  imagination  of 
Jeremy  Taylor  takes  its  hue  from  his  vast  learning,  and  de 
rives  from  classical  and  historical  allusions  more  than  half  its 
sources  of  illustration ;  that  of  Fuller,  from  the  wit  which 
forms  the  prime  element  in  his  intellectual  constitution. 
Burke,  on  the  other  hand,  had  little  wit ;  at  least  it  was  no 
characteristic  of  his  mind :  the  images  his  mind  supplies  are 
chiefly  distinguished  by  splendor  and  beauty.  Still,  in  a 
boundless  profusion  of  imagery  of  one  kind  or  another,  avail 
able  on  all  occasions  and  on  all  subjects,  and  capable  of  cloth 
ing  sterility  itself  with  sudden  freshness  and  verdure,  they  all 
resemble  one  another,  and  are  almost  unequalled  among 
English  prose-writers.  Most  marvellous  and  enviable  is  that 
fecundity  of  fancy,  which  can  adorn  whatever  it  touches, — 
which  can  invest  naked  fact  and  dry  reasoning  with  unlooked- 
for  beauty,  —  make  flowerets  bloom  even  on  the  brow  of  the 
precipice,  and,  when  nothing  better  can  be  had,  can  turn  the 
very  substance  of  rock  itself  into  moss  and  lichens.  This 
faculty  is  incomparably  the  most  important  for  the  vivid  and 
attractive  exhibition  of  truth  to  the  minds  of  men  ;  and, 
taken  in  connection  with  other  qualities,  which  neither  Taylor 
nor  Fuller  possessed,  namely,  method  and  taste,  will  do  more 
to  give  books  permanent  power  and  popularity,  than  even  the 
very  truths  they  contain.  Indeed,  that,  to  a  great  extent,  may 
be  said  of  every  discourse,  which  Fuller  says  more  particular 
ly  of  sermons,  "  that  though  reasons  are  the  pillars  of  the  fab 
ric,  similitudes  are  the  windows  which  give  the  best  lights." 

We  have  said  that  Fuller's  faculty  of  illustration  is  bound 
less  ;  surely  it  may  be  safely  asserted,  since  it  can  diffuse 
even  over  the  driest  geographical  and  chronological  details  an 
unwonted  interest.  We  have  a  remarkable  exemplification 
of  this  in  those  chapters  of  his  "Holy  War"  in  which  he 
gives  what  he  quaintly  calls  "a  Pisgah-sight,  or  Short  Sur- 


LIFE   AND   WRITINGS    OF   THOMAS   FULLER.  11 

vey  of  Palestine  in  general "  ;  and  a  still  stronger,  if  possible, 
in  his  "  Description  of  the  Citie  of  Jerusalem."  In  these 
chapters,  what  in  other  hands  would  have  proved  little  more 
than  a  bare  enumeration  of  names,  sparkles  with  perpetual 
wit,  and  is  enlivened  with  all  sorts  of  vivacious  allusions. 
One  or  two  short  specimens  of  the  arts  by  which  he  manages 
to  make  such  a  "  survey  "  attractive,  will  be  found  below  ;  * 
but  much  of  the  effect  is  lost  by  their  being  presented  in  a 
detached  form. 

The  principal  attribute  of  Fuller's  genius  is  unquestiona 
bly  wit ;  though,  as  Coleridge  has  well  observed,  "  this  veiy 
circumstance  has  defrauded  him  of  his  due  praise  for  the 
practical  wisdom  of  the  thoughts, — for  the  beauty  and  vari 
ety  of  the  truths  into  which  he  shaped  the  stuff.  "  If  it  be  in 
quired  what  was  the  character  of  his  wit,  it  must  be  replied, 
it  is  so  various,  and  assumes  so  many  different  shapes,  that 
one  might  as  well  attempt  to  define  wit  itself;  and  this,  see- 

*  "  Nain,  where  our  Saviour  raised  the  widow's  son,  so  that  she  was 
twice  a  mother,  yet  had  but  one  child."  "  Mount  Carmel,  the  Jewish 
Parnassus,  where  the  prophets  were  so  conversant."  "Aphek,  whose 
walls  falling  down,  gave  both  death  and  gravestones  (!)  to  27,000  of 
Benhadad's  soldiers."  "Tyre,  anciently  the  Royal  Exchange  of  the 
world."  "  The  River  Kishon,  the  besom  to  sweep  away  Sisera's  army." 
"  Gilboa,  the  mountain  that  David  cursed,  that  neither  dew  nor  rain 
should  fall  on  it;  but  of  late,  some  English  travellers  climbing  this 
mountain  were  well  wetted,  David  not  cursing  it  by  a  prophetical  spirit, 
but  in  a  poetical  rapture."  "  Gilgal,  where  the  manna  ceased,  the  Isra 
elites  having  till  then  been  fellow-commoners  with  the  angels."  "  Gib- 
eon,  whose  inhabitants  cozened  Joshua  with  a  pass  of  false-dated  an 
tiquity.  Who  could  have  thought  that  clouted  shoes  could  have  cov 
ered  so  much  subtility  ?  "  "  Gaza,  the  gates  whereof  Samson  carried 
away ;  and  being  sent  for  to  make  sport  in  the  house  of  Dagon,  acted 
such  a  tragedy  as  plucked  down  the  stage,  slew  himself  and  all  the  spec 
tators."  "  Macphelah,  where  the  patriarchs  were  buried,  whose  bodies 
took  lively  and  seisin  in  behalf  of  their  posterity,  who  were  to  possess 
the  whole  land."  "  Edrei,  the  city  of  Og,  on  whose  giant-like  propor 
tions  the  rabbis  have  more  giant-like  lies."  "Pisgah,  where  Moses 
viewed  the  land :  hereabouts  the  angel  buried  him,  and  also  buried  the 
grave,  lest  it  should  occasion  idolatry." 


12  LIFE   AND   WRITINGS    OF  THOMAS  FULLER. 

ing  the  comprehensive  Barrow  has  contented  himself  with  an 
enumeration  of  its  forms,  in  despair  of  being  able  to  include 
them  all  within  the  circle  of  a  precise  definition,  we  certainly 
shall  not  at  present  attempt.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  all  the  va 
rieties  recorded  in  that  singularly  felicitous  passage  are  exem 
plified  in  the  pages  of  our  author.  Of  Us  wit,  as  of  wit  in 
general,  it  may  be  truly  said,  that  "  sometimes  it  lieth  in  pat 
allusion  to  a  known  story,  or  in  seasonable  application  of  a 
trivial  saying,  or  in  forging  an  apposite  tale  ;  sometimes  it 
playeth  in  words  and  phrases,  taking  advantage  from  the  am 
biguity  of  their  sense,  or  the  affinity  of  their  sound  ;  some 
times  it  is  wrapped  in  a  dress  of  humorous  expression  ;  some 
times  it  lurketh  under  an  odd  similitude  ;  sometimes  it  is 
lodged  in  a  sly  question,  in  a  smart  answer,  in  a  quirkish  rea 
son,  in  a  shrewd  intimation,  in  cunningly  diverting  or  clev 
erly  retorting  an  objection  ;  sometimes  it  is  couched  in  a  bold 
scheme  of  speech,  in  a  tart  irony,  in  a  lusty  hyperbole,  in  a 
startling  metaphor,  in  a  plausible  reconciling  of  contradic 
tions,  or  in  acute  nonsense  ;  sometimes  a  scenical  representa 
tion  of  persons  or  things,  a  counterfeit  speech,  a  mimical  look 
or  gesture,  passeth  for  it ;  sometimes  an  affected  simplicity  ; 
sometimes  a  presumptuous  bluntness  giveth  it  being  ;  some 
times  it  riseth  only  from  a  lucky  hitting  upon  what  is  strange  ; 
sometimes  from  a  crafty  wresting  obvious  matter  to  the  pur 
pose.  Often  it  consisteth  in  one  knows  not  what,  and  spring- 
eth  up  one  can  hardly  tell  how.  Its  ways  are  unaccountable 
and  inexplicable  ;  being  answerable  to  the  numberless  rovings 
of  fancy,  and  windings  of  language." 

Of  all  the  preceding  varieties  of  wit,  next  to  the  "  play 
with  words  and  phrases,"  perhaps  Fuller  most  delighted  in 
"  pat  allusions  to  a  known  story  "  ;  "  in  seasonable  applica 
tion  of  a  trivial  saying  "  ;  "  in  a  tart  irony  "  and  "  an  af 
fected  simplicity  "  ;  in  the  "  odd  similitude  "  and  the  "  quirk 
ish  reason."  In  these  he  certainly  excelled.  We  have  noted 
some  brief  specimens,  which  we  here  give  the  reader. 
Speaking  of  the  Jesuits  he  says  :  "  Such  is  the  charity  of  the 


LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF   THOMAS   FULLER.  13 

Jesuits,  that  they  never  owe  any  man  any  ill-will,  —  making 
present   payment   thereof."     Of  certain  prurient  canons  in 

;  which  virtue  is  in  imminent  danger  of  being  tainted  by  impure 
descriptions  of  purity,  he  shrewdly  remarks  :  "  One  may 
justly  admire  how  these  canonists,  being  pretended  virgins, 

;  could  arrive  at  the  knowledge  of  the  criticisms  of  all  obscen 
ity."  Touching  the  miraculous  coffin  in  which  St.  Audre 
was  deposited,  he  slyly  says :  "  Under  the  ruined  walls  of 
Grantchester  or  Cambridge,  a  coffin  was  found,  with  a  cover 

i  correspondent,  both  of  white  marble,  which  did  fit  her  body 
so  exactly,  as  if  (which  one  may  believe  was  true)  it  was 
made  for  it."  On  MachiavePs  saying,  "  that  he  who  under 
takes  to  write  a  history  must  be  of  no  religion,"  he  observes : 
"  If  so,  Machiavel  himself  was  the  best  qualified  of  any  in  his 
age  to  be  a  good  historian."  On  the  unusual  conjunction  of 
great  learning  and  great  wealth  in  the  case  of  Selden,  he  re 
marks  :  "  Mr.  Selden  had  some  coins  of  the  Roman  emperors, 
and  a  great  many  more  of  our  English  kings."  After  com 
menting  on  the  old  story  of  St.  Dunstan's  pinching  the  Devil's 
nose  with  the  red-hot  tongs,  he  absurdly  cries  out :  "  But 
away  with  all  suspicions  and  queries.  None  need  to  doubt  of 
the  truth  thereof,  finding  it  in  a  sign  painted  in  Fleet  Street, 
near  Temple  Bar."  The  bare,  bald  style  of  the  schoolman, 
he  tells  us,  some  have  attributed  to  design,  "  lest  any  of  the 
vermin  of  equivocation  should  hide  themselves  under  the  nap 
of  their  words."  On  excessive  attention  to  fashion  in  dress, 
he  says  :  "  Had  some  of  our  gallants  been  with  the  Israelites 
in  the  wilderness,  when  for  forty  years  their  clothes  waxed 
not  old,  they  would  have  been  vexed,  though  their  clothes 
were  whole,  to  have  been  so  long  in  one  fashion."  Speaking 
of  the  melancholy  forebodings  which  have  sometimes  haunted 
the  death-bed  of  good  men,  he  quaintly  tells  us,  "  that  the 
Devil  is  most  busy  in  the  last  day  of  his  term,  and  a  tenant  to 
be  outed  cares  not  what  mischief  he  does."  Of  unreasonable 
expectations  he  says,  with  characteristic  love  of  quibbling: 
u  Those  who  expect  what  in  reason  they  cannot  expect,  may 
2 


14  LIFE   AT*D  WRITINGS    OF   THOMAS   FULLER. 

expect."  He  thus  happily  illustrates  the  aid  which  the  mem 
ory  derives  from  method  :  "  One  will  carry  twice  more  weight 
trussed  and  packed  up  in  bundles,  than  when  it  lies  untoward- 
ly  flapping  and  hanging  about  his  shoulders."  The  court 
jester  he  wittily  and  truly  characterizes  thus :  "  It  is  an  of 
fice  which  none  but  he  that  hath  wit  can  perform,  and  none 
but  he  that  wants  wit  will  perform."  Of  modest  women,  who 
nevertheless  dress  themselves  in  questionable  attire,  he  says : 
"  I  must  confess  some  honest  women  may  go  thus,  but  no 
whit  the  honester  for  going  thus.  That  ship  may  have  Cas 
tor  and  Pollux  for  the  sign,  which,  notwithstanding,  has  St. 
Paul  for  the  lading."  He  thus  speaks  of  anger  :  "  He  that 
keepeth  anger  long  in  his  bosom,  giveth  place  to  the  Devil. 
And  why  should  we  make  room  for  him  who  will  crowd  in 
too  fast  of  himself?  Heat  of  passion  makes  our  souls  to 
crack,  and  the  Devil  creeps  in  at  the  crannies."  Of  mar 
riages  between  the  young  and  the  old,  he  shrewdly  remarks  : 
"  They  that  marry  ancient  people,  merely  in  expectation  to 
bury  them,  hang  themselves  in  hopes  some  one  may  come 
and  cut  the  halter."  Of  the  affectedly  grave  he  tells  us  : 
"  These  sometimes  not  only  cover  their  defects,  but  get  praise. 
They  do  wisely  to  counterfeit  a  reservedness,  and  to  keep 
their  chests  always  locked,  —  not  for  fear  any  should  steal 
treasure  thence,  but  lest  some  should  look  in  and  see  that 
there  is  nothing  in  them."  After  telling  us  that  an  undutiful 
child  will  be  repaid  in  the  same  coin  by  his  own  children,  he 
says  :  "  One  complained  that  never  father  had  so  undutiful  a 
child  as  he  had.  '  Yes,'  said  the  son,  with  more  truth  than 
grace,  '  my  grandfather  had.'  "  By  way  of  illustrating  the 
superior  efficacy  of  example,  he  says  :  "  A  father  that  whipt 
his  son  for  swearing,  and  swore  himself  while  he  whipt  him, 
did  more  harm  by  his  example  than  good  by  his  correction." 
Of  the  intellectual  deficiencies  in  the  very  tall,  he  remarks, 
that  "  ofttimes  such  who  are  built  four  stories  high,  are  ob 
served  to  have  little  in  their  cockloft ";  and  of  "  naturals," 
that  "  their  heads  are  sometimes  so  little,  that  there  is  no  room 


LIFE    AND   WRITINGS    OF    THOMAS    FULLER.  15 

for  wit ;  sometimes  so  long,  that  there  is  no  wit  for  so  much 
room."  And  again  :  "  Generally  nature  hangs  out  a  sign  of 
simplicity  in  the  face  of  a  fool,  and  there  is  enough  in  his 
countenance  for  a  hue  and  cry  to  take  him  on  suspicion.  Yet 
some  by  their  faces  may  pass  current  enough  till  they  cry 
themselves  down  by  their  speaking,  for  men  know  the  bell  is 
cracked  when  they  hear  it  tolled." 

Of  the  "  quirkish  reason,"  mentioned  as  one  of  the  species 
of  wit  in  the  above-recited  passage  of  Barrow,  the  pages  of 
our  author  are  full.  What  can  be  more  ridiculous  than  the 
reason  he  assigns,  in  his  description  of  the  "  good  wife,"  for 
the  order  of  Paul's  admonitions  to  husbands  and  wives  in  the 
third  chapter  of  the  Epistle  to  the  Colossians  ?  "  The  Apostle 
first  adviseth  women  to  submit  themselves  to  their  husbands, 
and  then  counselleth  men  to  love  their  wives.  And  sure  it 
was  fitting  that  women  should  first  have  their  lesson  given 
them,  because  it  is  hardest  to  be  learned,  and  therefore  they 
need  have  the  more  time  to  con  it.  For  the  same  reason  we 
first  begin  with  the  character  of  a  good  wife."  Not  less  droll, 
or  rather  far  more  so,  is  the  manner  in  which  he  subtilizes  on 
the  command,  that  we  are  not  "  to  let  the  sun  go  down  on  our 
wrath."  u  Anger  kept  till  the  next  morning,  with  manna, 
doth  putrefy  and  corrupt ;  save  that  manna,  corrupted  not  at 
all,  (and  anger  most  of  all,)  kept  the  next  Sabbath.  St.  Paul 
saith,  '  Let  not  the  sun  go  down  on  your  wrath,'  to  carry  news 
to  the  antipodes  in  another  world  of  thy  revengeful  nature. 
Yet  let  us  take  the  Apostle's  meaning  rather  than  his  words, 
with  all  possible  speed  to  depose  our  passion  ;  not  understand 
ing  him  so  literally  that  we  may  take  leave  to  be  angry  till 
sunset ;  then  might  our  wrath  lengthen  with  the  days,  and 
men  in  Greenland,  where  day  lasts  above  a  quarter  of  a  year, 
have  plentiful  scope  of  revenge."  :  One  more  specimen  of 

*  On  this  passage  Charles  Lamb  makes  the  following  characteristic 
remarks :  "  This  whimsical  prevention  of  a  consequence  which  no  one 
would  have  thought  of  deducing,  setting  up  an  absurdum  on  purpose  to 
hunt  it  down,  —  placing  guards,  as  it  were,  at  the  very  outposts  of  possi- 


16  LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF   THOMAS   FULLER. 

the  "  quirkish  reason,"  and  we  will  have  done.  Of  memory 
he  says  :  "  Philosophers  place  it  in  the  rear  of  the  head  ; 
and  it  seems  the  mine  of  memory  lies  there,  because  there 
men  naturally  dig  for  it,  scratching  it  when  they  are  at  a 
loss  ! " 

Of  all  the  forms  of  wit,  Fuller  affects  that  of  the  satirist 
least.  Though  he  can  be  caustic,  and  sometimes  is  so,  he 
does  not  often  indulge  the  propensity  ;  and  when  he  does,  it  is 
without  bitterness  ;  a  sly  irony,  a  good-humored  gibe,  which 
tickles,  but  does  not  sting,  is  all  he  ventures  upon.  Perhaps 
there  is  no  mental  quality  whatever,  which  so  much  depends 
on  the  temperament  and  moral  habitudes  of  the  individual,  as 
this  of  wit ;  so  much  so,  indeed,  that  often  they  will  wholly 
determine  its  character.  We  are  inclined  to  think,  that  he 
who  is  master  of  any  one  species  of  wit,  might  make  himself 
no  mean  proficient  in  all ;  whether  it  shall  have  the  quality  of 
waspish  spleen,  or  grave  banter,  or  broad  and  laughing  hu 
mor,  depends  far  more  on  moral  than  on  intellectual  causes. 
Imagine  Fuller's  wit  in  a  man  of  melancholic  temperament, 
querulous  disposition,  sickly  health,  morbid  sensibility,  or  irri 
table  vanity,  —  and  we  should  have  a  satirist  whose  malignity 
would  repel  still  more  than  his  wit  would  attract.  The  sal 
lies  of  our  author  are  enjoyed  without  any  drawback,  even 
when  they  are  a  little  satirical ;  so  innocent,  so  childlike,  so 
free  from  malice,  are  they.  His  own  temperament  eminent 
ly  favored  the  development  of  the  more  amiable  qualities  of 
wit :  he  was  endowed  with  that  happy  buoyancy  of  spirit, 
which,  next  to  religion  itself,  is  the  most  precious  possession 
of  man  ;  and  which  is  second  only  to  religion,  in  enabling  us 

bility,  —  gravely  giving  out  laws  to  insanity,  and  prescribing  moral  fen 
ces  to  distempered  intellects,  could  never  have  entered  into  a  head  less 
entertainingly  constructed  than  that  of  Fuller,  or  Sir  Thomas  Browne, 
the  very  air  of  whose  style  the  conclusion  of  this  passage  most  aptly  im 
itates."  Lamb  has  made  a  small  selection  from  the  racy  sayings  of  Ful 
ler,  very  few  of  which,  however,  are  included  in  those  we  have  here  pre 
sented  to  the  reader.  In  truth,  they  are  so  numerous,  that  they  may  be 
picked  up  in  every  page. 


LIFE   AND   WRITINGS    OF    THOMAS    FULLER.  17 

to  bear  with  ease  the  trials  and  burdens  of  humanity.  Both 
conspired  to  render  him  habitually  light-hearted.  With  such 
a  temperament,  thus  added  to  unfeigned  piety  and  unfeigned 
benevolence ;  with  a  heart  open  to  all  innocent  pleasures, 
and  purged  from  the  "  leaven  of  malice  and  uncharitable- 
ness,"  it  was  as  natural  that  he  should  be  full  of  good-tem 
pered  mirth,  as  it  is  for  the  grasshopper  to  chirp,  or  the  bee 
to  hum,  or  the  birds  to  warble,  in  the  spring  breeze  and  the 
bright  sunshine.  His  very  physiognomy  was  an  index  to  his 
natural  character.  As  described  by  his  contemporaries,  he 
had  light  flaxen  hair,  bright,  blue,  and  laughing  eyes,  a  frank 
and  open  visage.  Such  a  face  was  a  sort  of  guaranty,  that 
the  wit  with  which  he  was  endowed  could  not  be  employed 
for  any  purpose  inconsistent  with  constitutional  good-nature. 
Accordingly,  never  was  mirth  more  devoid  of  malice  than  his  ; 
unseasonable  and  in  excess  it  doubtless  often  is,  but  this  is  all 
that  can  be  charged  upon  it.  His  gibes  are  so  pleasant,  so 
tinctured  by  an  overflowing  bonhommie,  that  we  doubt  wheth 
er  the  very  subjects  of  them  could  forbear  laughing  in  sym 
pathy,  though  at  their  own  expense.  Equally  assured  we  are, 
that,  as  he  never  uttered  a  joke  on  another  with  any  malice, 
so  he  was  quite  ready  to  laugh  when  any  joke  was  uttered 
upon  himself.  Never  dreaming  of  ill-will  to  his  neighbor, 
and  equally  unsuspicious  of  any  towards  himself,  it  must  have 
been  a  bitter  joke  indeed  in  which  he  could  not  join.  It  is 
rarely  that  a  professed  joker  relishes  wit  when  directed  against 
himself ;  and  the  manner  in  which  he  receives  it  may  usually 
be  taken  as  an  infallible  indication  of  his  temper.  He  well 
knows  the  difference  between  laughing  at  another  and  being 
laughed  at  himself.  Fuller  was  not  one  of  that  irritabile  ge 
nus,  who  wonder  that  any  should  be  offended  at  their  innocent 
pleasantry  ;  and  yet  can  never  find  any  pleasantry  innocent 
but  their  own !  There  is  a  story  told,  which,  though  not  true, 
ought  *to  have  been  true,  and  which,  if  not  denied  by  Fuller, 
would  have  been  supposed  to  authenticate  itself.  It  is  said 
that  he  once  "  caught  a  Tartar  "  in  a  certain  Mr.  Sparrow- 

2* 


18  LIFE   AND   WRITINGS    OF   THOMAS   FULLER. 

hawk,  of  whom  he  asked,  "  What  was  the  difference  between 
an  owl  and  a  sparrowhawk  ?  "  The  reply  was,  that  "  an 
owl  was  fuller  in  the  head,  and  fuller  in  the  face,  and  fuller 
all  over  !  We  believe  that,  if  the  retort  had  been  really  ut 
tered,  it  would  have  been  received  by  the  object  of  it,  not 
with  that  curious  expression  of  face  so  common  on  such  oc 
casions,  in  which  constrained  mirth  struggles  with  mortified 
vanity,  and  stimulated  laughter  vainly  strives  to  cover  real 
annoyance,  but  with  a  peal  of  hearty  gratulation.* 

As  the  temperament  of  Fuller  was  most  cheerful,  and  a 
pledge  for  the  innocence  of  his  wit,  so  he  jested  by  what  may 
be  called  a  necessity  of  his  nature,  —  on  all  subjects,  at  all 
times,  under  all  circumstances.  Wit,  in  one  or  other  of  its 
multitudinous  shapes,  was  the  habitual  attire  of  his  thoughts 
and  feelings.  With  the  kindest  heart  in  the  world,  he  could 
not  recite  even  a  calamitous  story  without  investing  it  with  a 

*  The  story  is,  however,  more  than  doubtful ;  it  is  expressly  denied 
by  Fuller  himself,  in  his  reply  to  Heylyn's  "  Examen  Historicum." 
The  circumstances  which  led  to  the  denial  are  curious.  Fuller,  in  his 
"  Ecclesiastical  History,"  had  related  of  Laud,  that  having  once  demand 
ed  of  a  lady,  who  had  lately  become  a  proselyte  to  Popery,  the  reason 
of  the  change,  he  received  for  answer,  that  "  she  hated  a  crowd."  Upon 
being  further  pressed  to  explain  so  dark  a  saying,  she  said,  "  Your  Lord 
ship  and  many  others  are  making  for  Eome  as  fast  as  ye  can,  and  there 
fore,  to  prevent  a  press,  I  went  before  you."  This  anecdote  roused  the 
indignation  of  Heylyn,  who,  by  way  of  showing  the  impropriety  of  re 
cording  in  print  idle  reports  to  the  disadvantage  of  individuals,  tells  of 
a  "  retort  "  on  Fuller,  substantially  the  same  with  that  related  of  Mr. 
Sparrowhawk,  but  disguised  in  a  form,  and  attended  with  circumstances, 
which  rob  it  of  more  than  half  its  point,  and  make  Fuller  appear  to 
greater  disadvantage  than  that  of  having  merely  been  discomfited  by  a 
happy  repartee.  Fuller  thus  replied  :  "  My  tale  was  true  and  new,  never 
printed  before  ;  whereas  his  is  old  (made,  it  seems,  on  one  of  my  name, 
printed  before  I  was  born)  and  false,  never  by  man  or  woman  retorted 
on  me.  I  had  rather  my  name  should  make  many  causelessly  merry, 
than  any  justly  sad ;  and  seeing  it  lieth  equally  open  and  obvious  to 
praise  and  dispraise,  I  shall  as  little  be  elated  when  flattered  — '  Fuller 
of  wit  and  learning,'  as  dejected  when  flouted  — '  Fuller  of  folly  and 
ignorance.' " 


LIFE   AND   WRITINGS    OF    THOMAS    FULLER.  19 

tinge  of  the  ludicrous.  It  would  seem  as  if,  in  his  case,  a 
jest  were  the  natural  expression  of  all  emotion  ;  he  is  no 
more  to  be  wondered  at  for  mingling  his  condolence  and  his 
lamentations  with  merriment,  than  are  other  men  for  accom 
panying  them  with  tears  and  sighs.  An  epitaph  in  his  hand 
would  have  been  a  sort  of  epigram,  not  free  from  grotesque 
humor ;  and  his  ordinary  pulpit  discourses  must,  we  are  con 
vinced,  have  often  contained  passages  which  severely  tried 
the  gravity  of  his  audience.  In  confirmation  of  all  we  have 
said,  we  may  remark,  that  he  actually  finds  it  impossible  to 
suppress  his  vivacious  pleasantry  even  in  the  most  tragical 
parts  of  his  "  histories,"  and  tells  the  most  rueful  tidings  in 
so  droll  a  manner  as  sets  all  sobriety  at  defiance.  One  or 
two  odd  specimens  we  cannot  refrain  from  laying  before  the 
reader.  He  thus  recounts  a  "  lamentable  accident "  which 
befell  a  congregation  of  Catholics  at  Blackfriars :  "  The 
sermon  began  to  incline  to  the  middle,  the  day  to  the  end 
thereof;  when  on  the  sudden  the  floor  fell  down  whereon 
they  were  assembled.  It  gave  no  charitable  warning  groan 
beforehand,  but  cracked,  broke,  and  fell,  all  in  an  instant. 
Many  were  killed,  more  bruised,  all  frighted.  Sad  sight,  to 
behold  the  flesh  and  blood  of  different  persons  mingled  to 
gether,  and  the  brains  of  one  on  the  head  of  another  !  One 
lacked  a  leg ;  another,  an  arm  ;  a  third,  whole  and  entire, 
wanting  nothing  but  breath,  stifled  in  the  ruins."  Was  ever 
such  a  calamity  so  mirthfully  related  ?  But  one  of  the  most 
singular  instances  of  the  peculiarity  in  question  is  contained 
in  his  account  of  the  capture  and  execution  of  the  principal 
conspirators  in  the  Gunpowder  Plot.  It  is  so  characteristic, 
that  no  apology  is  required  for  inserting  one  or  two  extracts 
below.* 

*  "  Meantime  Catesby,  Percy,  Rookwood,  both  the  Wrights,  and 
Thomas  Winter,  were  hovering  about  London,  to  attend  the  issue  of  the 
matter.  Having  sat  so  long  abrood,  and  hatching  nothing,  they  began, 
to  suspect  all  their  eggs  had  proved  addle.  Yet,  betwixt  hope  and  fear, 
they  and  their  servants  post  down  into  the  country,  through  Warwick 


20  LIFE   AND   WRITINGS    OF    THOMAS    FULLER. 

So  exuberant  is  Fuller's  wit,  that,  as  his  very  melancholy 
is  mirthful,  so  his  very  wisdom  wears  motley.  But  it  is  wis 
dom  notwithstanding ;  nor  are  there  many  authors,  in  whom 


and  Worcester,  into  Staffordshire.  Of  traitors  they  turn  felons,  break 
ing  up  stables  and  stealing  horses  as  they  went.  But  many  of  their 
own  men,  by  a  far  more  lawful  felony,  stole  away  from  their  masters, 
leaving  them  to  shift  for  themselves.  The  neighboring  counties,  and 
their  own  consciences,  rise  up  against  these  riotous  roisterers,  as  yet  un 
known  for  traitors.  At  last  Sir  Richard  Walsh,  high  sheriff  of  Worces 
tershire,  overtook  them  at  Holbeck,  in  Staffordshire,  at  the  house  of  Mr. 
Stephen  Littleton ;  where,  upon  their  resistance,  the  two  Wrights  were 
killed,  Rookwood  and  Thomas  Winter  shrewdly  wounded.  As  for  Per 
cy  and  Catesby,  they  fought  desperately  for  their  lives,  as  knowing  no 
quarter  but  quartering  would  be  given  unto  them  ;  and,  as  if  they  scorned 
to  turn  their  backs  to  any  but  themselves,  setting  back  to  back,  they 
fought  against  all  that  assaulted  them.  Many  swords  were  drawn  upon 
them,  but '  gunpowder '  must  do  the  deed,  which  discharged  that  bullet 
which  despatched  them  both.  Never  were  two  bad  men's  deaths  more 
generally  lamented  of  all  good  men  ;  only  on  this  account,  —  that  they 
lived  no  longer,  to  be  forced  to  a  further  discovery  of  their  secret  asso 
ciates.  It  must  not  be  forgotten,  how,  some  hours  before  their  appre 
hension,  as  these  plotters  were  drying  dank  gunpowder  in  an  inn,  a  mil 
ler  casually  coming  in  (haply  not  heeding  the  black  meal  on  the  hearth), 
by  careless  casting  on  of  a  billet,  fired  the  gunpowder :  up  flies  the  chim 
ney  with  part  of  the  house ;  all  therein  are  frightened,  most  hurt ;  but 
especially  Catesby  and  Rookwood  had  their  faces  soundly  scorched, 
so  bearing  in  their  bodies,  not  crriy/zara,  '  the  marks  of  Our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ,'  but  the  print  of  their  own  impieties.  Well  might  they  guess 
how  good  that  their  cup  of  cruelty  was,  whose  dregs  they  meant  others 
should  drink,  by  this  little  sip  which  they  themselves  had  unwillingly 
tasted  thereof.  The  rest  were  all  at  London  solemnly  arraigned,  con 
victed,  condemned.  So  foul  the  fact,  so  fair  the  proof,  they  could  say 
nothing  for  themselves.  Master  Tresham  dying  in  the  prison,  prevented 

a  more  ignominious  end." "  They  all  craved  testimony  that  they 

died  Roman  Catholics.  My  pen  shall  grant  them  this  their  last  and  so 
equal  petition,  and  bears  witness  to  all  whom  it  may  concern,  that  they  lived 
and  died  in  the  Romish  religion.  And  although  the  heinousness  of  their 
offence  might,  with  some  color  of  justice,  have  angered  severity  into 
cruelty  against  them,  yet  so  favorably  were  they  proceeded  with,  that 
most  of  their  sons  or  heirs,  except  since  disinherited  by  their  own  prod 
igality,  at  this  day  enjoy  their  paternal  possessions." 


LIFE   AND   WRITINGS    OF    THOMAS    FULLER.  21 

we  shall  find  so  much  solid  sense  and  practical  sagacity,  in 
spite  of  the  grotesque  disguise  in  which  they  mask  them 
selves.  Nothing  can  be  more  true  than  the  remark  already 
quoted  from  Coleridge,  that  Fuller's  wit  has  defrauded  him 
of  some  of  the  praise  of  wisdom  which  is  his  due.  There 
was  nothing,  however,  of  the  reality,  whatever  there  might 
be  of  the  appearance,  of  profane  or  inhuman  levity,  in  his 
mode  of  dealing  with  sacred  or  serious  subjects.  His  was 
the  natural  expression  of  much  hilarity  conjoined  with  •  much 
wit.  He  would  have  been  mirthful,  whether  he  had  had 
much  wit  or  not ;  having  also  much  wit,  his  mirth  expressed 
itself  in  the  forms  most  natural  to  him.  He  spoke  only  as 
he*  felt ;  and  though  we  may  think  that  another  mode  of 
speech  would  have  been  more  proper,  and  better  adapted 
to  the  ordinary  feelings  of  mankind  under  the  circumstances, 
we  cannot  consent  to  rank  the  facetice,  of  Fuller  on  grave 
subjects,  with  the  profane,  heartless  witticisms  of  those  with 
whom  nothing  is  sacred,  and  who  speak  lightly  because  they 
feel  lightly.  His  whole  life,  and  even  his  whole  writings, 
prove  him  to  have  been  possessed  of  genuine  veneration  for 
all  that  is  divine,  and  genuine  sympathy  with  all  that  is 
human. 

The  limits  within  which  wit  and  humor  may  be  lawfully 
used,  are  well  laid  down  by  himself  in  his  "  Holy  and  Pro 
fane  State,"  in  the  essays  on  "  Jesting  and  Gravity,"  and  in 
his  character  of  the  "  Faithful  Minister."  It  would  be  too 
much  to  say  that  he  has  always  acted  strictly  up  to  his  own 
maxims ;  but  it  may  be  safely  asserted  that  he  seldom  vio 
lates  the  most  important  of  them,  and  that,  when  he  did,  it 
was  in  perfect  unconsciousness  of  so  doing.  Of  profane 
jests,  he  says  in  his  strong  manner  :  "  Jest  not  with  the 
two-edged  sword  of  God's  word.  Will  nothing  please  thee 
to  wash  thy  hands  in  but  the  font  ?  or  to  drink  healths  in 
but  the  church  chalice  ? "  On  inhuman  jests,  he  says : 
"  Scoff  not  at  the  natural  defects  of  any  which  are  not  in 
their  power  to  amend.  Oh,  it  is  cruelty  to  beat  a  cripple 


22  LIFE    AND   WRITINGS    OF   THOMAS    FULLER. 

with  his  own  crutches  !  "  In  another  place,  he  quaintly  says, 
"  It  is  unnatural  to  laugh  at  a  natural."  Speaking  of  the 
"  Faithful  Minister,"  he  says,  "  that  he  will  not  use  a  light 
comparison  to  make  thereof  a  grave  application,  for  fear  lest 
his  poison  go  farther  than  his  antidote."  But  his  sermons 
on  the  book  of  "  Ruth  "  contain  many  curious  instances  of 
his  oblivion  of  this  maxim ;  of  which  a  striking  one  is 
given  by  the  editor  of  the  recent  edition  of  his  "  Holy  and 
Profane  State."  In  his  essay  on  "  Gravity,"  he  touchingly 
pleads  for  a  charitable  construction  of  the  levities  of  a  mirth 
ful  temperament.  "  Some  men,"  says  he,  "  are  of  a  very 
cheerful  disposition  ;  and  God  forbid  that  all  such  should  be 
condemned  for  lightness !  Oh,  let  not  any  envious  eye  dis 
inherit  men  of  that  which  is  their  '  portion  in  this  life,  com 
fortably  to  enjoy  the  blessings  thereof ' !  Yet  gravity  must 
prune,  not  root  out,  our  mirth."  Gravity  must  have  had  hard 
work  to  do  this  in  his  own  case  ;  for  as  he  himself  says  in 
another  place,  —  beautifully  commenting  on  a  well-known 
line  of  Horace  :  "  That  fork  must  have  strong  tines  where 
with  one  would  thrust  out  nature." 

The  imagination  of  Fuller,  though  generally  displaying  it 
self  in  the  forms  imposed  by  his  overflowing  wit,  was  yet 
capable  of  suggesting  images  of  great  beauty,  and  of  true 
poetic  quality.  Though  lost  in  the  perpetual  obtrusion  of 
that  faculty  to  which  every  other  was  compelled  to  minister, 
it  is  brilliant  enough  to  have  made  the  reputation  of  any  in 
ferior  writer ;  and  we  believe  that  what  Coleridge  has  said 
of  his  wisdom,  might  as  truly  be  said  of  his  fancy  ;  —  his 
wit  has  equally  defrauded  both  of  the  admiration  due  to 
them. 

Fuller's  imagination  is  often  happily  employed  in  embody 
ing  some  strong  apothegm,  or  maxim  of  practical  wisdom, 
in  a  powerful  and  striking  metaphor  ;  the  very  best  form  in 
which  they  can  be  presented  to  us.  There  occur  in  his  writ 
ings  very  many  sentences  of  this  kind,  which  would  not  be 
altogether  unworthy  of  Bacon  himself,  and  in  which,  as  in 


LIFE   AND   WRITINGS    OF   THOMAS    FULLER.  23 

that  far  greater  genius,  we  have  the  combination  of  solid 
truth,  beautiful  imagery,  and  graceful  expression  ;  —  where 
we  know  not  which  most  to  admire,  —  the  value  of  the  gem, 
the  lustre  of  the  polish,  or  the  appropriateness  of  the  setting. 

In  many  respects,  Fuller  may  be  considered  the  very  type 
and  exemplar  of  that  large  class  of  religious  writers  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  to  which  we  emphatically  apply  the 
term  "  quaint."  That  word  has  long  ceased  to  mean  what  it 
once  meant.  By  derivation,  and  by  original  usage,  it  first 
signified  "  scrupulously  elegant,"  "  refined,"  "  exact,"  "  ac 
curate,"  beyond  the  reach  of  common  art.  In  time  it  came 
to  be  applied  to  whatever  was  designed  to  indicate  these 
characteristics,  —  though  excogitated  with  so  elaborate  a  sub- 
tilty,  as  to  trespass  on  ease  and  nature.  In  a  word,  it  was 
applied  to  what  was  ingenious  and  fantastic,  rather  than  taste 
ful  or  beautiful.  It  is  now  wholly  used  in  this  acceptation  ; 
and  always  implies  some  violation  of  true  taste,  some  devia 
tion  from  what  the  "  natural  "  requires  under  the  given  cir 
cumstances.  The  application  of  the  word,  both  to  literary 
compositions  and  to  the  more  material  products  of  art,  of 
course  simultaneously  underwent  similar  modifications. 

Now,  the  age  in  which  Fuller  lived  was  the  golden  age  of 
"  quaintness  "  of  all  kinds  ;  —  in  gardening,  in  architecture, 
in  costume,  in  manners,  in  religion,  in  literature.  As  men 
improved  external  nature  with  a  perverse  expenditure  of 
money  and  ingenuity,  —  made  her  yews  and  cypresses  grow 
into  peacocks  and  statues,  —  tortured  and  clipped  her  luxuri 
ance  into  monotonous  uniformity,  —  turned  her  graceful 
curves  and  spirals  into  straight  lines  and  parallelograms,  — 
compelled  things  incongruous  to  blend  in  artificial  union,  and 
then  measured  the  merits  of  the  work,  not  by  the  absurdity 
of  the  design,  but  by  the  difficulty  of  the  execution  ;  —  so  in 
literature,  the  curiously  and  elaborately  unnatural  was  too 
often  the  sole  object.  Far-fetched  allusions  and  strained 
similitudes,  fantastic  conceits  and  pedantic  quotations,  the 
eternal  jingle  of  alliteration  and  antithesis,  puns  and  quirks 


24  LIFE   AND   WRITINGS    OF    THOMAS    FULLER. 

and  verbal  pleasantries  of  all  kinds,  —  these  too  often  formed 
the  choicest  objects  of  the  writer's  ambition.  The  excellence 
of  the  product  was  judged,  not  by  its  intrinsic  beauty,  but  by 
the  labor  it  involved,  and  the  ingenuity  it  displayed. 

But  while  much  of  the  "  quaint "  literature  of  that  age  is 
now  as  little  relished  as  the  ruffs,  wigs,  and  high-backed 
chairs  of  our  great-great-grandfathers,  there  is  not  a  little 
which  will  be  held  in  everlasting  remembrance.  Not  only 
are  the  works  of  powerful,  although  often  perverted  genius, 
full  of  thoughts,  and  images,  and  felicities  of  expression, 
which,  being  the  offspring  of  truth  and  fancy,  will  be  beau 
tiful  through  all  time  ;  but  the  aspect  in  which  the  "  quaint " 
itself  appears  to  us  will  depend  upon  the  character  of  the 
individual  writer,  and  the  nature  of  the  subjects  he  treats. 
The  constitution  of  Fuller's  mind  had  such  an  affinity  with 
the  peculiarities  of  the  day,  that  what  was  "  quaint "  in 
others  seems  to  have  been  his  natural  element,  —  the  sort  of 
attire  in  which  his  active  and  eccentric  genius  loved  to  clothe 
itself.  The  habit  which  others  perhaps  slowly  attained,  and 
at  length  made  (by  those  strong  associations  which  can  for  a 
while  sanctify  any  thing  in  taste  or  fashion)  a  second  nature, 
seems  to  have  cost  him  nothing.  Allusions  and  images  may 
appear  odd,  unaccountably  odd,  but  in  him  they  are  evidently 
not  far-fetched  ;  they  are  spontaneously  and  readily  pre 
sented  by  his  teeming  fancy  :  even  his  puns  and  alliterations 
seem  the  careless,  irrepressible  exuberances  of  a  very  sportive 
mind,  —  not  racked  and  tortured  out  of  an  unwilling  brain, 
as  is  the  case  with  so  many  of  his  contemporaries.  We  are 
aware,  of  course,  that  it  is  the  office  of  a  correct  judgment 
to  circumscribe  the  extravagances  of  the  suggestive  faculty, 
and  to  select  from  the  materials  it  offers  only  what  is  in  har 
mony  with  good  taste.  All  we  mean  is,  that  in  the  case  of 
Fuller,  the  suggestions,  however  eccentric,  were  spontane 
ous,  not  artificial,  —  offered,  not  sought  for.  The  water, 
however  brackish  or  otherwise  impure,  still  gushed  from  a 
natural  spring,  and  was  not  brought  up  by  the  wheel  and 


LIFE   AND  WRITINGS    OF   THOMAS   FULLER.  25 

axle.  His  mind  was  a  fountain,  not  a  forcing-pump.  Thus 
his  very  "quaintness"  is  also  "nature,"  —  nature  in  him, 
though  it  would  not  be  so  in  others ;  and  we  therefore  read 
his  most  outrageous  extravagances  with  very  different  feel 
ings  from  those  with  which  we  glance  at  the  frigid  conceits 
and  dreary  impertinences  of  many  of  his  contemporaries. 
Nor  do  we  simply  feel  indulgence  towards  them  as  spon 
taneous  ;  their  very  spontaneity  insures  them  an  elasticity 
and  vivacity  of  expression,  which  we  should  seek  m  vain  in 
writers  whose  minds  had  less  affinity  with  the  genius  of  the 
|  day. 

Nor  are  we  to  forget  that  there  are  certain  subjects  to 
which  the  "  quaint "  style  of  those  times  is  better  adapted 
than  to  others ;  and  in  which  it  appears  not  destitute  of  a 
certain  fantastic  grace  and  fitness.  We  mean  subjects  in 
which  little  of  passion  or  emotion  would  be  expected.  When 
conviction  or  persuasion  is  the  object,  and  directness  of  pur 
pose  and  earnestness  of  feeling  are  essential,  we  do  not  say 
to  success,  but  merely  to  gain  a  hearing,  nothing  can  be  more 
repulsive,  because  nothing  more  unnatural,  than  the  "  quaint " 
style  ;  —  nothing  being  more  improbable  than  that  far-fetched 
similitudes  and  labored  prettinesses  should  offer  themselves 
to  the  mind  at  such  a  moment;  except,  indeed,  where 
universal  custom  has  made  (as  in  the  case  of  some  of  our 
forefathers)  quaintness  itself  a  second  nature.  When  lachry 
matories  were  the  fashion,  it  might,  for  aught  we  can  tell, 
have  been  easy  for  the  ancient  mourner  to  drop  a  tear  into 
the  little  cruet  at  any  given  moment.  But,  ordinarily,  nothing 
is  more  certain  than  that  the  very  sight  of  such  a  receptacle 
would,  as  it  was  carried  round  to  the  company,  instantly  an 
nihilate  all  emotion,  even  if  it  did  not  turn  tears  into  laugh 
ter.  Not  less  repellent,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  are 
all  the  forms  of  the  "  quaint,"  when  the  object  is  to  excite 
emotion,  strong  or  deep.  But  it  is  not  so  with  certain  other 
subjects,  in  which  the  "  quaint "  itself  is  not  without  its 
recommendations.  For  example,  in  enforcing  and  illustrat- 

3 


26  LIFE   AND   WRITINGS    OF   THOMAS    FULLER. 

ing  moral  maxims,  in  calmly  inculcating  lessons  of  life  and 
manners,  in  depicting  varieties  of  human  character,  —  in  all 
which  cases  no  continuous  reasoning,  no  warmth  of  passion, 
is  expected  or  required  ;  the  fancy  may  well  be  indulged  in 
her  most  sportive  and  playful  moods,  and  allowed  to  attire 
the  sententious  aphorisms  she  is  commissioned  to  recommend, 
in  any  way  that  seems  to  her  best.  She  may  travel  in  any 
circuit,  however  wide,  for  her  illustrations, —  may  employ 
analogies,  the  very  oddity  of  which  shall  insure  their  being 
remembered,  —  may  lock  up  wisdom  in  any  curious  casket  of 
antithesis  or  alliteration,  —  nay,  may  not  disdain  even  a  quip 
or  a  pun,  when  these  may  serve  to  stimulate  attention,  or  to 
aid  the  memory.  The  very  best  specimens  of  the  quaint 
style,  at  all  events,  are  on  such  themes.  Such,  to  mention  a 
single  example,  is  Earle's  "  Microcosmography  "  ;  such,  also, 
are  the  best  and  most  finished  of  Fuller's  own  writings,  —  as 
his  "  Profane  and  Holy  State,"  his  "  Good  Thoughts  in  Bad 
Times,"  his  "  Good  Thoughts  in  Worse  Times,"  and  his 
"  Mixed  Contemplations."  The  composition  in  such  works 
often  reminds  us  of  some  gorgeous  piece  of  cabinet-work 
from  China  or  India,  in  which  ivory  is  richly  inlaid  with 
gems  and  gold.  Though  we  may  not  think  the  materials  al 
ways  harmonious,  or  the  shape  perfectly  consistent  with  our 
notions  of  elegance,  we  cannot  fail  to  admire  the  richness  ot 
the  whole  product,  and  the  costliness  and  elaboration  of  the 
workmanship. 

We  have  said,  that  in  many  respects  Fuller  may  be  con 
sidered  the  master  of  the  quaint  school  of  the  seventeenth 
century.  It  is  by  no  means  to  be  forgotten,  however,  that  he 
is  almost  entirely  free  from  many  of  the  most  offensive 
peculiarities  of  that  school.  As  those  qualities  of  quaintness 
he  possesses  in  common  with  his  contemporaries  are,  as  al 
ready  intimated,  natural  to  him,  so,  from  those  which  could 
hardly  be  natural  in  any,  he  is  for  the  most  part  free.  Thus 
he  is  almost  wholly  untainted  by  that  vain  pedantry,  which 
so  deeply  infects  the  style  of  many  of  the  greatest  writers  of 


LIFE    AND   WRITINGS    OF    THOMAS    FULLER.  27 

his  age  ;  more  especially  Burton,  Jeremy  Taylor,  Donne, 
and  Browne.  His  quotations  are  very  rare,  and  generally 
very  apt,  introduced  for  use,  not  ostentation.  You  nowhere 
find  that  curious  mosaic-work  of  different  tongues,  which  is 
so  common  in  the  pages  of  Burton  and  Taylor.  You  never 
find  him,  as  you  do  this  last  writer,  enforcing  some  common 
place  of  moral  wisdom  by  half  a  dozen  quotations  from  dif 
ferent  writers,  as  though  afraid  to  allow  even  a  truism  to 
walk  abroad,  except  under  the  guard  of  some  venerable 
names;  or  as  though  men  would  not  believe  their  own 
senses,  unless  they  had  the  authority  of  antiquity  for  doing 
so.  From  all  the  forms  of  learned  pedantry,  Fuller  may  be 
pronounced  almost  entirely  free.  His  reading  was  various, 
and  his  learning  great ;  though  not  to  be  compared  to  those 
of  the  above  writers,  whose  powers,  vast  as  they  were,  often 
sank  beneath  the  load  of  their  more  prodigious  erudition. 

Fuller's  style  is  also  free,  to  a  great  extent,  from  the  Latin- 
isms  which  form  so  large  an  element  in  that  of  many  of  his 
great  contemporaries.  Both  in  style  and  diction,  he  is  much 
more  idiomatic  than  most  of  them.  The  structure  of  his 
sentences  is  far  less  involved  and  periodic,  while  his  words 
are  in  much  larger  proportion  of  Saxon  derivation.  Some 
thing  may,  no  doubt,  be  attributed  to  the  character  of  his 
mind  ;  his  shrewd  practical  sense  leading  him,  as  it  generally 
leads  those  who  are  strongly  characterized  by  it,  to  prefer  the 
homely  and  universally  intelligible  in  point  of  expression. 
Still  more,  however,  is  to  be  attributed  to  the  habits  of  his 
life.  He  was  not  the  learned  recluse  which  many  of  his 
contemporaries  were,  and  neither  read  nor  wrote  half  so 
much  in  the  learned  tongues.  He  loved  to  gossip  with  the 
common  people  ;  and  when  collecting  materials  for  his  his 
torical  works,  would  listen,  we  are  told,  for  hours  together,  to 
their  prolix  accounts  of  local  traditions  and  family  legends. 
Many,  very  many  of  the  good  old  English  words  now  lost, 
may  be  found  in  his  writings.  One  passage  of  vigorous  idio 
matic  English,  and  which  is,  in  many  other  respects,  a  strik- 


28  LIFE   AND   WRITINGS    OF    THOMAS    FULLER. 

ing  exemplification  of  Fuller's  manner,  we  cannot  refrain 
from  quoting.  It  is  from  his  "Essay  on  Tombs." 

"  Tombs  are  the  clothes  of  the  dead.  A  grave  is  but  a  plain 
suit,  and  a  rich  monument  is  one  embroidered.  Most  moderate 
men  have  been  careful  for  the  decent  interment  of  their  corpses  ; 

both  hereby  to  prevent  the  negligence  of  heirs,  and  to 

mind  him  of  his  mortality.  Virgil  tells  us,  that  when  bees  swarm 
in  the  air,  and  two  armies,  meeting  together,  fight  as  it  were  a  set 
battle,  with  great  violence, —  cast  but  a  little  dust  upon  them,  and 
they  will  be  quiet :  — 

{Hi  motus  animorum,  atque  hsec  certamina  tanta, 
Pulveris  exigui  jactu  compressa  quiescunt.' 

"  Thus  the  most  ambitious  motions  and  thoughts  of  man's  mind 
are  quickly  quelled  when  dust  is  thrown  on  him,  whereof  his  fore- 
prepared  sepulchre  is  an  excellent  remembrancer.  Yet  some  seem 
to  have  built  their  tombs  therein  to  bury  their  thoughts  of  dying ; 
never  thinking  thereof,  but  embracing  the  world  with  greater 
greediness.  A  gentleman  made  choice  of  a  fair  stone,  and,  intend 
ing  the  same  for  his  gravestone,  caused  it  to  be  pitched  up  in  a  field, 
a  pretty  distance  from  his  house,  and  used  often  to  shoot  at  it  for  his 
exercise.  'Yea,  but,'  said  a  wag  that  stood  by,  'you  would  be 
loath,  Sir,  to  hit  the  mark.'  And  so  are  many  unwilling  to  die, 
who,  notwithstanding,  have  erected  their  monuments. 

"  Tombs  ought,  in  some  sort,  to  be  proportioned,  not  to  the 
wealth,  but  deserts,  of  the  party  interred.  Yet  may  we  see  some 
rich  man  of  mean  worth,  loaden  under  a  tomb  big  enough  for  a 
prince  to  bear.  There  were  officers  appointed  in  the  Grecian 
games,  who  always,  by  public  authority,  did  pluck  down  the 
statues  erected  to  the  victors,  if  they  exceeded  the  true  symmetry 
and  proportion  of  their  bodies. 

"  The  shortest,  plainest,  and  truest  epitaphs  are  best. — I  say, 
'  the  shortest';  for  when  a  passenger  sees  a  chronicle  written  on  a 
tomb,  he  takes  it  on  trust  some  great  man  lies  there  buried,  without 
taking  pains  to  examine  who  he  is.  Mr.  Camden,  in  his  '  Remains,' 
presents  us  with  examples  of  great  men  that  had  little  epitaphs. 
And  when  once  I  asked  a  witty  gentleman,  an  honored  friend  of 
mine,  what  epitaph  was  fittest  to  be  written  on  Mr.  Camdeirs  tomb, 
— '  Let  it  be,'  said  he,  '  "  Camden's  Remains."  I  say  also,  '  the 
plainest ' ;  for  except  the  sense  lie  above  ground,  few  will  trouble 


LIFE    AND   WRITINGS    OF    THOMAS    FULLER.  29 

themselves  to  dig  for  it.  Lastly,  it  must  be  '  true  ' ;  not  as  in  some 
monuments,  where  the  red  veins  in  the  marble  may  seem  to  blush 
at  the  falsehoods  written  on  it.  He  was  a  witty  man  that  first 
taught  a  stone  to  speak,  but  he  was  a  wicked  man  that  taught  it 
first  to  lie. 

"  To  want  a  grave  is  the  cruelty  of  the  living,  not  the  misery  of 
the  dead.  An  English  gentleman,  not  long  since,  did  lie  on  his 
death-bed  in  Spain,  and  the  Jesuits  did  flock  about  him  to  pervert 
him  to  their  religion.  All  was  in  vain.  Their  last  argument  was, 
'  If  you  will  not  turn  Roman  Catholic,  then  your  body  shall  be  un- 
buried.'  '  Then,'  answered  he,  *  I  will  stink  ' ;  and  so  turned  his 
head  and  died.  Thus  love,  if  not  to  the  dead,  to  the  living,  will 

make  him,  if  not  a  grave,  a  hole A  good  memory  is  the 

best  monument.  Others  are  subject  to  casualty  and  time  ;  and  we 
know  that  the  pyramids  themselves,  doting  with  age,  have  forgotten 
the  names  of  their  founders.  To  conclude  ;  let  us  be  careful  to 
provide  rest  for  our  souls,  and  our  bodies  will  provide  rest  for  them 
selves.  And  let  us  not  be  herein  like  unto  gentlewomen,  who  care 
not  to  keep  the  inside  of  the  orange,  but  candy,  and  preserve  only 
the  outside  thereof." 

One  other  Essay, .  which  is  not  only  a  fine  specimen  of 
Fuller's  best  manner,  but  is  full  of  sound  practical  criticism, 
we  cannot  resist  the  temptation  to  cite.  It  is  on  "  Fancy." 

"  Fancy  is  an  inward  sense  of  the  soul,  for  a  while  retaining 
and  examining  things  brought  in  thither  by  the  common  sense.  It 
is  the  most  boundless  and  restless  faculty  of  the  soul ;  for,  whilst 
the  understanding  and  the  will  are  kept  as  it  were  in  liberd  custodia 
to  their  objects  of  verum  et  bonum,  the  fancy  is  free  from  all  engage 
ments.  It  digs  without  spade,  sails  without  ship,  flies  without 
wings,  builds  without  charges,  fights  without  bloodshed ;  in  a  mo 
ment  striding  from  the  centre  to  the  circumference  of  the  world,  by 
a  kind  of  omnipotency  creating  and  annihilating  things  in  an  in 
stant  ;  and  things  divorced  in  nature  are  married  in  fancy,  as  in  a 
lawful  place.  It  is  also  most  restless ;  whilst  the  senses  are  bound, 
and  reason  in  a  manner  asleep,  fancy,  like  a  sentinel,  walks  the 
round,  ever  working,  never  wearied. 

"  The  chief  diseases  of  the  fancy  are  either,  that  it  is  too  wild 
and  high-soaring,  or  else  too  low  and  grovelling,  or  else  too  desul 
tory  and  over-voluble. 

3* 


30  LIFE   AND    WRITINGS    OF    THOMAS    FULLER. 

"  Of  the  first :  —  If  thy  fancy  be  but  a  little  too  rank,  age  itself 
will  correct  it.  To  lift  too  high  is  no  fault  in  a  young  horse  ;  be 
cause,  with  travelling,  he  will  mend  it  for  his  own  ease.  Thus, 
lofty  fancies  in  young  men  will  come  down  of  themselves  ;  and,  in 
process  of  time,  the  overplus  will  shrink  to  be  but  even  measure. 
But  if  this  will  not  do  it,  then  observe  these  rules  :  — 

"  Take  part  always  with  thy  judgment  against  thy  fancy,  in  any 
thing  wherein  they  shall  dissent.  If  thou  suspectest  thy  conceits 
too  luxuriant,  herein  account  thy  suspicion  a  legal  conviction,  and 
damn  whatsoever  thou  doubtest  of.  Warily  Tully  :  Benk  monent, 
qui  vetant  quicquam  facere  de  quo  dubitas,  aquwn  sit  an  iniquum. 

"Take  the  advice  of  a  faithful  friend,  and  submit  thy  inventions 
to  his  censure.  When  thou  pennest  an  oration,  let  him  have  the 
power  of  Index  Eocpurgatorius,  to  expunge  what  he  pleaseth ;  and 
do  not  thou,  like  a  fond  mother,  cry  if  the  child  of  thy  brain  be 
corrected  for  playing  the  wanton:  Mark  the  arguments  and  reasons 
of  his  alterations,  —  why  that  phrase  least  proper,  this  passage 
more  cautious  and  advised  ;  and,  after  a  while,  thou  shalt  perform 
the  place  in  thine  own  person,  and  not  go  out  of  thyself  for  a  cen- 
surer. 

"  If  thy  fancy  be  too  low  and  humble,  let  thy  judgment  be  king, 
but  not  tyrant,  over  it,  to  condemn  harmless,  yea  commendable,  con 
ceits.  Some,  for  fear  their  orations  should  giggle,  will  not  let  them 
smile.  Give  it  also  liberty  to  rove,  for  it  will  not  be  extravagant. 
There  is  no  danger  that  weak  folks,  if  they  walk  abroad,  will  strag 
gle  far,  as  wanting  strength. 

"  Acquaint  thyself  with  reading  poets,  for  there  fancy  is  in  her 
throne  ;  and,  in  time,  the  sparks  of  the  author's  wit  will  catch  hold 
on  the  reader,  and  inflame  him  with  love,  liking,  and  desire  of  imi 
tation.  I  confess  there  is  more  required  to  teach  one  to  write  than 
to  see  a  copy.  However,  there  is  a  secret  force  of  fascination  in 
reading  poems,  to  raise  and  provoke  fancy. 

"  If  thy  fancy  be  over-voluble,  then  whip  this  vagrant  home  to 
the  first  object  whereon  it  should  be  settled.  Indeed,  nimbleness  is 
the  perfection  of  this  faculty,  but  levity  the  bane  of  it.  Great  is 
the  difference  betwixt  a  swift  horse,  and  a  skittish,  that  will  stand 
on  no  ground.  Such  is  the  ubiquitary  fancy,  which  will  keep  long 
residence  on  no  one  subject,  but  is  so  courteous  to  strangers,  that  it 
ever  welcomes  that  conceit  most  which  comes  last,  and  new  species 
supplant  the  old  ones,  before  Seriously  considered.  If  this  be  the 


LIFE    AND   WRITINGS   OF    THOMAS    FULLER.  31 

fault  of  thy  fancy,  I  say,  whip  it  home  to  the  first  object  whereon 
it  should  be  settled.  This  do  as  often  as  occasion  requires,  and  by 
degrees  the  fugitive  servant  will  learn  to  abide  by  his  work  without 
running  away. 

"  Acquaint  thyself  by  degrees  with  hard  and  knotty  studies, — 
as  school-divinity,  which  will  clog  thy  over-nimble  fancy.  True,  at 
the  first,  it  will  be  as  welcome  to  thee  as  a  prison,  and  their  very 
solutions  will  seem  knots  unto  thee.  But  take  not  too  much  at 
once,  lest  thy  brain  turn  edge.  Taste  it  first  as  a  potion  for 
physic ;  and  by  degrees  thou  shalt  drink  it  as  beer  for  thirst ;  prac 
tice  will  make  it  pleasant.  Mathematics  are  also  good  for  this  pur 
pose  ;  if  beginning  to  try  a  conclusion,  thou  must  make  an  end, 
lest  thou  losest  thy  pains  that  are  past,  and  must  proceed  seriously 
and  exactly.  I  meddle  not  with  those  Bedlam  fancies,  all  whose 
conceits  are  antics ;  but  leave  them  for  the  physicians  to  purge  with 
hellebore. 

"  To  clothe  low  creeping  matter  with  high-flown  language  is  not 
fine  fancy,  but  flat  foolery.  It  rather  loads  than  raises  a  wren,  to 
fasten  the  feathers  of  an  ostrich  to  her  wings.  Some  men's 
speeches  are  like  the  high  mountains  in  Ireland,  having  a  dirty  bog 
in  the  top  of  them ;  the  very  ridge  of  them  in  high  words  having 
nothing  of  worth,  but  what  rather  stalls  than  delights  the  auditor. 

"  Fine  fancies  in  manufactures  invent  engines  rather  pretty  than 
useful.  And,  commonly,  one  trade  is  too  narrow  for  them.  They 
are  better  to  project  new  ways  than  to  prosecute  old,  and  are  rather 
skilful  in  many  mysteries  than  thriving  in  one.  They  affect  not 
voluminous  inventions,  wherein  many  years  must  constantly  be 
spent  to  perfect  them,  except  there  be  in  them  variety  of  pleasant 
employment. 

"  Imagination  (the  work  of  the  fancy)  hath  produced  real  effects. 
Many  serious  and  sad  examples  hereof  may  be  produced.  I  will 
only  insist  on  a  merry  one.  A  gentleman  having  led  a  company  of 
children  beyond  their  usual  journey,  they  began  to  be  weary,  and 
jointly  cried  to  him  to  carry  them;  which,  because  of  their  multi 
tude,  he  could  not  do,  but  told  them  he  would  provide  them  horses 
to  ride  on.  Then  cutting  little  wands  out  of  the  hedge  as  nags  for 
them,  and  a  great  stake  as  a  gelding  for  himself,  thus  mounted, 
fancy  put  mettle  into  their  legs,  and  they  came  cheerfully  home. 

"  Fancy  runs  most  furiously  when  a  guilty  conscience  drives  it. 
One  that  owed  much  money,  and  had  many  creditors,  as  he  walked 


32  LIFE   AND   WRITINGS    OF    THOMAS    FULLER. 

London  streets  in  the  evening,  a  tenter-hook  caught  his  cloak.  '  At 
whose  suit  ? '  said  he,  conceiving  some  bailiff  had  arrested  him. 
Thus  guilty  consciences  are  afraid  where  no  fear  is,  and  count  every 
creature  they  meet  a  sergeant  sent  from  God  to  punish  them." 

The  historical  works  of  Fuller  are  simply  a  caricature  of 
the  species  of  composition  to  which  they  professedly  belong ; 
a  systematic  violation  of  all  its  proprieties.  The  gravity  and 
dignity  of  the  historic  Muse  are  habitually  violated  by  him. 
Nay,  more  ;  not  only  is  he  continually  cracking  his  jokes, 
and  perpetrating  his  puns ;  his  matter  is  as  full  of  treason 
against  the  laws  of  history  as  his  manner.  His  very  method 
—  if  we  may  be  allowed  such  an  abuse  of  language  —  con 
sists  in  a  contempt  of  all  method.  He  has  so  constructed  his 
works  as  to  secure  himself  the  indulgence  of  perpetual  digres 
sion, —  of  harboring  and  protecting  every  vagrant  story  that 
may  ask  shelter  in  his  pages,  —  of  rambling  hither  and 
thither,  as  the  fit  takes  him,  —  and  of  introducing  all  sorts  of 
things,  where,  when,  and  how  he  pleases.  To  this  end  he 
has  cut  up  his  "  Histories  "  into  little  paragraphs  or  sections, 
which  often  have  as  little  connection  with  one  another  as 
with  the  general  subject.  Any  curious  fact,  any  anecdote, 
is  sufficient  warrant  in  his  opinion  for  a  digression ;  provided 
only  it  has  any  conceivable  relation  to  the  events  he  happens 
to  be  narrating.  A  mere  chronological  connection  is  always 
deemed  enough  to  justify  him  in  bringing  the  most  diverse 
matters  into  juxtaposition  ;  while  the  little  spaces  which  divide 
his  sections  from  one  another,  like  the  little  compartments  in 
a  cabinet  of  curiosities,  are  thought  sufficient  lines  of  de 
marcation  between  the  oddest  incongruities.  His  "  Worthies 
of  England  "  is  in  fact  a  rambling  tour  over  the  English 
Counties,  taken  in  alphabetical  order,  in  which,  though  his 
chief  object  undoubtedly  is  to  give  an  account  of  the  prin 
cipal  families  resident  in  each,  and  of  the  illustrious  men 
they  have  severally  produced,  be  cannot  refrain  from  thrust 
ing  in  a  world  of  gossip  on  their  natural  history  and  geogra 
phy  ;  on  their  productions,  laws,  customs,  and  proverbs.  It 


LIFE   AND   WRITINGS    OF    THOMAS    FULLER.  33 

may  be  said  that  this  was  an  unfinished  work  ;  that  we  have 
not  the  fabric  itself,  but  only  the  bricks  and  mortar  of  which 
it  was  to  be  constructed.  We  reply  that  the  general  plan  is 
sufficiently  disclosed,  and  could  not  have  been  materially 
altered  had  the  author  lived  to  complete  the  work.  But  is 
his  "  Church  History  "  a  whit  better  in  this  respect  ?  Never 
was  there  such  a  medley.  First,  each  book  and  section  is 
introduced  by  a  quaint  dedication  to  one  or  other  of  his  many 
admirers  or  patrons.  Nicholson  in  his  "  English  Historical 
Library  "  is  rather  severe  on  his  motives  for  such  a  multipli 
cation  of  dedications.  Secondly,  the  several  paragraphs  into 
which  the  "  Church  History"  is  divided  (most  of  them  intro 
duced  by  some  quaint  title)  are  many  of  them  as  little  con 
nected  with  church  history  as  with  the  history  of  China. 
Thus,  in  one  short  "  section,"  comprising  the  period  from 
1330  to  1361,  we  find  "  paragraphs"  relating  to  "  the  igno 
rance  of  the  English  in  curious  clothing,"  —  to  "  fuller's 
earth,"  which,  he  tells  us,  "  was  a  precious  commodity,"  — 
to  the  manufacture  of  "  woollen  cloth,"  and  to  the  sumptuary 
laws  which  "  restrained  excess  in  apparel." 

Here  is  a  strange  mixture  in  one  short  chapter !  Church 
history,  as  all  the  world  knows,  is  compelled  to  treat  of  mat 
ters  which  have  a  very  remote  relation  to  the  Church  of 
Christ ;  but  who  could  have  suspected  that  it  could,  by  possi 
bility,  take  cognizance  of  fuller's  earth  and  woollens  ?  Even 
Fuller  himself  seems  a  little  astonished  at  his  own  hardihood  ; 
and  lest  any  should  at  first  sight  fail  to  see  the  perfect  con- 
gruity  of  such  topics,  he  engages,  with  matchless  effrontery, 
to  show  the  connection  between  them.  His  reasons  are  so 
very  absurd,  and  given  so  much  in  his  own  manner,  that  we 
cannot  refrain  from  citing  them.  "  But  enough  of  this  sub 
ject,  which  let  none  condemn  for  a  deviation  from  church 
history.  First,  because  it  would  not  grieve  me  to  go  a  little 
out  of  the  way,  if  the  way  be  good,  as  the  digression  is  for 
the  credit  and  profit  of  our  country.  Secondly,  it  reductively 
belongeth  to  the  church  history,  seeing  many  poor  people, 


34  LIFE   AND   WRITINGS    OF    THOMAS    FULLER. 

both  young  and  old,  formerly  charging  the  parishes  (as  ap 
peared  by  the  account  of  the  church  officers)  were  hereby 
enabled  to  maintain  themselves  "  !  ! 

It  may  well   be  supposed,  after  what  has  been  said,  that 
his  "  Histories  "  are  not  to  be  judged  by  the  ordinary  rules 
applied  to  that  class  of  compositions.     They  possess  intrinsic 
value  only  as  collections  and  repertories  of  materials  for  other 
and  less  eccentric  writers.     In  this  point  of  view  he  often 
modestly  represents  them  ;  and,  in  fact,  as  we  conjecture,  for 
the  very  purpose  of  securing  the  larger  license  for  rambling. 
The  praise  of  method  and  regularity  (if  indeed  he  formed 
any  notion  of  these)  he  coveted  little,  compared  with  the  free 
indulgence  of  his  vagrant  and  gossiping  humor.     He  loved, 
like  Edie  Ochiltree,  "  to  daunder  along  the  green  lanes,"  to 
leave  the  dusty  high-road  of  continuous  history,  and  solace 
himself  in  every  "  by-path  meadow  "  that  invited  his  feet  by 
its  softness  and  verdure.     Even  as  a  collector  of  materials, 
his  merits  have  been  strongly  called  in  question  by  Bishop 
Nicholson.     "  Through  the  whole  of  his  '  Church  History,'  " 
says  the  critic,  "  he  is  so  fond  of  his  own  wit,  that  he  does 
not  seem  to  have  minded  what  he  was  about.     The  gravity 
of  an  historian  (much  more  of  an  ecclesiastical  one)  requires 
a  far  greater  care,  both  of  the  matter  and  style  of  his  work, 
than  is  here  to  be  met  with.     If  a  pretty  story  comes  in  his 
way  that  affords  scope  for  clinch  and  droll,  off  it  goes  with  all 
the  gayety  of  the  stage,  without  staying  to  inquire  whether  it 
have  any  foundation  in  truth  or  not ;  and  even  the  most  seri 
ous  and  authentic  parts  of  it  are  so  interlaced  with  pun  and 
quibble,  that  it  looks  as  if  the  man  had  designed  to  ridicule 
the  annals  of  our  Church  into  fable  and  romance.     Yet  if  it 
were  possible  to  refine  it  well,  the  work  would  be  of  good 
use,  since  there  are  in  it  some  things  of  moment  hardly  to  be 
had  elsewhere,  which  may  often  illustrate  dark  passages  in 
more  serious  writers.     These  are  not  to  be  despised  where 
his  authorities  are  cited,  and  appear  credible.     But  in  other 
matters,   where  he  is  singular,  and  without  his  vouchers, 


LIFE   AND   WRITINGS    OF    THOMAS    FULLER.  35 

That  Fuller  has  intermingled  a  great  deal  of  gossip  and 
rubbish  with  his  facts  is,  indeed,  most  true  ;  but  then,  usually, 
he  neither  receives  such  matter  for  truth  himself,  nor  delivers 
it  for  truth  to  others ;  so  that  the  worst  that  can  be  said  of 
him  on  that  score  is,  that  he  is  content  to  merge  his  historic 
character  in  that  of  a  retailer  of  amusing  oddities.  But  that 
he  is  careless  in  the  admission  or  investigation  of  facts,  we 
cannot  admit,  without  better  proof  than  Nicholson  has  fur 
nished  ;  and  we  much  fear  that  the  censure  of  the  critic  was 
excited  rather  by  Fuller's  candor,  than  by  either  his  partiality 
or  his  negligence.  If  he  had  been  a  more  thorough  partisan, 
and  on  the  side  of  his  censor,  we  should  have  been  spared 
some  of  the  indignation  of  this  "  historian  "  of  "  historians." 
With  indolence  in  his  researches,  at  all  events,  Fuller  cannot 
be  justly  taxed.  Frequently  compelled,  in  his  capacity  of 
chaplain  to  the  royal  army,  to  change  his  quarters,  often 
writing  without  the  advantage  of  books  and  access  to  docu 
ments,  it  was  impossible  that  he  should  not  fall  into  serious 
errors ;  but  he  diligently  availed  himself  of  such  resources 
as  were  within  his  reach.  As  already  intimated,  he  would 
spend  hours  in  patiently  listening  to  the  long-winded  recitals 
of  rustic  ignorance,  in  hopes  of  gleaning  some  neglected  tra 
dition,  or  of  rescuing  some  half- forgotten  fact  from  oblivion. 
His  works  everywhere  disclose  the  true  antiquarian  spirit, 
the  genuine  veneration  for  whatever  bears  the  "  charming 
rust,"  or  exhales  the  musty  odor  of  age  ;  and  it  is  plain  that, 
if  his  opportunities  had  been  equal  either  to  his  inclinations 
or  his  aptitudes,  he  would  have  been  no  mean  proficient  in 
the  arts  of  spelling  out  and  piercing  the  mouldering  records 
of  antiquity,  —  of  deciphering  documents,  —  of  adjusting 
dates,  —  of  investigating  the  origin  of  old  customs,  and  the 
etymology  of  old  names,  —  of  interpreting  proverbial  say 
ings,  —  of  sifting  the  residuum  of  truth  in  obscure  tradition, 
and  of  showing  the  manner  in  which  facts  have  passed  into 
fable.  Like  many  men  of  the  same  stamp,  however,  he  had 
not  the  faculty  of  discriminating  the  relative  value  of  the 


36  LIFE   AND   WRITINGS    OF   THOMAS    FULLER. 

facts  thus  elicited  ;  but  frequently  exhibits  the  most  insignifi 
cant  with  as  much  prominence  as  the  most  valuable  :  like 
them,  too,  he  often  mistakes  probability  for  demonstration, 
and  magnifies  conjecture  into  certainty.  In  some  respects 
he  bore  a  sort  of  resemblance  (though  in  others  how  differ 
ent  !)  to  Herodotus  and  Froissart.  The  charm  of  continuous 
narrative,  indeed,  for  which  they  are  so  justly  eminent,  he 
possessed  not ;  still  less  the  happy  art  of  a  picturesque  and 
graceful  disposition  of  his  materials.  But  in  his  diligent 
heed  to  traditional  stories,  in  the  personal  pains  and  labor 
which  he  was  willing  to  take  in  the  accumulation  of  his 
materials,  in  the  eagerness  and  the  patience  with  which  he 
prosecuted  the  chase,  in  the  large  infusion  of  merely  curious 
and  amusing  matter  amongst  the  sober  verities  of  history,  by 
which  his  "  Worthies  "  and  his  " Church  History"  are  equally 
marked,  there  is  some  resemblance.  The  traditions,  and 
"  the  reports,"  and  the  "  sayings  "  of  the  common  people, 
were  as  dear  to  him  as  was  the  a>s  \eyovo-i  to  the  father  of 
history.  Like  the  above  writers,  too,  he  usually  lets  us  know 
for  what  he  vouches,  and  what  he  gives  on  the  report  of 
others ;  and  we  believe  that,  as  in  their  case,  his  principal 
statements  will  be  found  more  nearly  true  the  more  they  are 
investigated.  But,  after  all,  his  professedly  historical  works 
are  not  to  be  read  as  histories;  their  strange  want  of  method, 
the  odd  intermixture  of  incongruous  and  irrelevant  matter 
they  contain,  and  the  eccentricities  of  all  kinds  with  which 
they  abound,  will  for  ever  prevent  that.  They  are  rather 
books  of  amusement ;  in  which  wisdom  and  whim,  impor 
tant  facts  and  impertinent  fables,  solid  reflections  and  quaint 
drolleries,  refined  wit  and  wretched  puns,  great  beauties  and 
great  negligences,  are  mingled  in  equal  proportions.  Pe 
rused  as  books  of  amusement,  there  are  few  in  the  English 
language  which  a  man,  with  the  slightest  tincture  of  love  for 
our  early  literature,  can  take  up  with  a  keener  relish  ;  while 
an  enthusiast,  whether  by  natural  predisposition  or  acquired 
habit,  will,  like  Charles  Lamb,  absolutely  riot  in  their  wild 
luxuriance. 


LIFE    AND   WRITINGS    OF    THOMAS    FULLER.  37 

Faulty  as  Fuller's  Histories  are,  it  will  be  seen  that  he  yet 
possessed  in  great  perfection  many  of  the  most  essential  con 
ditions  of  excellence  in  that  department  of  composition. 
His  spirit  of  research,  his  love  of  minute  investigation,  his 
fine  imagination,  his  boundless  vivacity,  his  freedom  from 
prejudice,  his  liberality  and  candor,  would  seem  to  have  in 
sured  success ;  and  that  success  would  doubtless  have  been 
eminent,  had  he  not  given  such  license  to  his  inordinate  wit, 
so  freely  indulged  his  oddities  of  manner,  and  set  all  method 
at  defiance.  These  defects  have  gone  far  to  neutralize  his 
other  admirable  qualifications  for  historical  composition  ;  and 
what  was  absurdly  said  of  Shakspeare,  might  with  some  pro 
priety  be  said  of  him,  "  that  a  pun  was  the  Cleopatra  for 
which  he  lost  the  world,  and  was  content  to  lose  it." 

In  a  moral  and  religious  point  of  view,  the  character  of 
Fuller  is  entitled  to  our  veneration,  and  is  altogether  one  of 
the 'most  attractive  and  interesting  which  that  age  exhibits  to 
us.  His  buoyant  temper,  and  his  perpetual  mirthfulness, 
were  wholly  at  variance  with  that  austerity  and  rigor  which 
characterized  so  many  of  the  religionists  of  his  time  ;  but 
his  life  and  conduct  bore  ample  testimony  that  he  possessed 
genuine  and  habitual  piety.  Amidst  all  his  levity  of  manner, 
there  was  still  the  gravity  of  the  heart,  —  deep  veneration 
for  all  things  sacred  ;  and  while  his  wit  clothed  even  his 
religious  thoughts  and  feelings  with  irresistible  pleasantry,  his 
manner  is  as  different  from  that  of  the  scorner,  as  the  inno 
cent  laugh  of  childhood  from  the  malignant  chuckle  of  a 
demon.  In  all  the  relations  of  domestic  and  social  life,  his 
conduct  was  most  exemplary.  In  one  point,  especially,  does 
he  appear  in  honorable  contrast  with  the  bigots  of  all  parties 
in  that  age  of  strife,  —  he  had  learned,  partly  from  his  natural 
benevolence,  and  partly  from  a  higher  principle,  the  lessons 
of  "  that  charity  which  thinketh  no  evil,"  and  which  so  few 
of  his  contemporaries  knew  how  to  practise.  His  very 
moderation,  however,  as  is  usually  the  case,  made  him  sus 
pected  by  the  zealots  of  both  parties.  Though  a  sincere 


38  LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF    THOMAS   FULLER. 

friend  of  the  Church  of  England,  he  looked  with  sorrow 
(which  in  his  "  Church  History  "  he  took  no  pains  to  dis 
guise)  on  the  severities  practised  towards  the  Puritans  ;  and 
everywhere  adopts  the  tone  of  apology  for  their  supposed 
errors,  and  of  compassion  for  their  undoubted  sufferings. 
His  candor  and  impartiality  in  treating  some  of  the  most 
delicate  portions  of  our  ecclesiastical  history  —  as,  for  ex 
ample,  the  Hampton  Court  controversy,  and  the  administra 
tion  of  Laud  —  are  in  admirable  contrast  with  the  resolute 
spirit  of  partisanship  which  has  inspired  so  many  of  the 
writers  of  the  Church  of  England.  There  were  not  wanting 
persons,  however,  who,  as  we  have  seen,  insinuated  that  his 
candor  in  these  and  other  instances  was  nothing  but  a  peace- 
offering  to  the  men  in  power  at  the  time  he  published  his 
"  Church  History."  But,  not  to  urge  that  he  has  said  too 
much  on  the  other  side  to  justify  such  a  supposition,  his 
whole  manner  is  that  of  an  honest  man,  striving  to  be  im 
partial,  even  if  not  always  successful.  Had  he  been  the  un 
principled  timeserver  this  calumny  would  represent  him,  he 
would  have  suppressed  a  little  more.  Coleridge  says  that  he 
was  "  incomparably  the  most  sensible,  the  least  prejudiced, 
great  man  of  an  age  that  boasted  a  galaxy  of  great  men." 
If  this  statement  be  confined  to  "  religious  prejudices,"  there 
are,  it  must  be  confessed,  few  of  his  age  who  can  be  com 
pared  with  him.  As  to  prejudices  of  other  kinds,  he  seems 
to  have  shared  in  those  of  most  of  his  contemporaries.  It  is 
hard,  or  rather  impossible,  to  be  wholly  beyond  one's  age. 
He  believed  in  witches  ;  he  was  a  resolute  stickler  for  the 
royal  prerogative  of  curing  the  king's  evil ;  though  whether 
his  loyalty  or  philosophy  had  most  to  do  with  his  convictions 
on  that  point,  may  well  admit  of  doubt.  It  is  true  that  he 
treats  the  idle  legends  and  fabled  miracles  of  Romish  super 
stition  with  sovereign  contempt ;  but  then  his  Protestantism 
came  to  the  aid  of  his  reason,  and,  considering  the  super 
stitions  he  has  himself  retained,  the  former  may  be  fairly 
supposed  to  have  offered  the  more  powerful  logic  of  the  two. 


LIFE   AND  WRITINGS    OF   THOMAS   FULLER.  39 

Though  Fuller  cannot  be  accused  of  sharing  the  bigotry 
and  bitterness  of  his  age,  he  is  by  no  means  perfectly  free 
from  a  very  opposite  vice  with  which  that  age  was  nearly  as 
chargeable,  —  we  mean  flattery.  His  multitudinous  dedica 
tions  to  his  numerous  patrons,  contained  in  the  "  Church 
History,"  are,  many  of  them,  very  striking,  and  even  beauti 
ful  compositions,  and  full  of  ingenious  turns  of  thought ;  but 
they  certainly  attribute  as  much  of  excellence  to  the  objects 
of  them,  as  either  history,  or  tradition,  or  charity  can  war 
rant  us  in  ascribing.  Something  may,  however,  be  pardoned 
to  the  spirit  of  the  age,  and  something  to  the  gratitude  or 
necessities  of  the  author.  But  that  any  author,  even  a  hungry 
one,  could  be  brought  to  write  them  is  a  wonder ;  that  any 
patron  could,  either  with  or  without  a  blush,  appropriate 
them,  is  a  still  greater  one.  It  is  in  the  conclusion  to  his 
character  of  the  "  Good  King,"  in  his  "  Holy  State,"  that 
our  author  has  fallen  most  unworthily  into  the  complimentary 
extravagance  of  the  times.  He,  of  course,  makes  the  reign 
ing  monarch  the  reality  of  the  fair  picture,  and  draws  his 
character  in  language  which  truth  might  well  interpret  into 
the  severest  irony. 

It  would  be  improper  to  close  this  analysis  of  one  of  the 
most  singular  intellects  that  ever  appeared  in  the  world  of 
letters,  without  saying  a  word  or  two  of  the  prodigies  related 
of  his  powers  of  memory.  That  he  had  a  very  tenacious 
one  may  easily  be  credited,  though  some  of  its  traditional 
feats  almost  pass  belief.  It  is  said  that  he  could  "  repeat 
five  hundred  strange  words  after  once  hearing  them,  and 
could  make  use  of  a  sermon  verbatim,  under  the  like  circum 
stances."  Still  further,  it  is  said  that  he  undertook,  in  pass 
ing  from  Temple  Bar  to  the  extremity  of  Cheapside,  to  tell, 
at  his  return,  every  sign  as  it  stood  in  order  on  both  sides  of 
the  way,  (repeating  them  either  backwards  or  forwards,)  and 
that  he  performed  the  task  exactly.  This  is  pretty  well,  con 
sidering  that  in  that  day  every  shop  had  its  sign.  The  inter 
pretation  of  such  hyperboles,  however,  is  very  easy ;  they 


40  LIFE   AND   WRITINGS    OF    THOMAS    FULLER. 

signify,  at  all  events,  thus  much,  —  that  he  had  an  extraor 
dinary  memory.  That  many  of  the  reports  respecting  it 
were  false  or  exaggerated,  may  be  gathered  from  an  amus 
ing  anecdote  recorded  by  himself.  "  None  alive,"  says  he, 
"  ever  heard  me  pretend  to  the  art  of  memory,  who  in  my 
book  (Holy  State)  have  decried  it  as  a  trick,  no  art ;  and, 
indeed,  is  more  of  fancy  than  memory.  I  confess,  some  ten 
years  since,  when  I  came  out  of  the  pulpit  of  St.  Dunstan's 
East,  one  (who  since  wrote  a  book  thereof)  told  me  in  the 
vestry,  before  credible  people,  that  he,  in  Sidney  College, 
had  taught  me  the  art  of  memory.  I  returned  unto  him,  that 
it  was  not  so,  for  I  could  not  remember  that  I  had  ever  seen 
him  before  !  which,  I  conceive,  was  a  real  refutation." 

One  is  prepared  to  meet  with  all  sorts  of  oddities  of  man 
ner  about  such  a  man,  for  it  would  be  strange  that  a  person 
so  eccentric  in  all  his  writings  should  not  have  been  eccen 
tric  in  his  private  habits  ;  but  really  the  following  account  of 
his  method  of  composition  passes  belief.  It  is  said  that  he 
was  in  "  the  habit  of  writing  the  first  words  of  every  line 
near  the  margin  down  to  the  foot  of  the  paper,  and  that  then, 
beginning  again,  he  filled  up  the  vacuities  exactly,  with 
out  spaces,  interlineations,  or  contractions "  ;  and  that  he 
"  would  so  connect  the  ends  and  beginnings  that  the  sense 
would  appear  as  complete  as  if  it  had  been  written  in  a  con 
tinued  series,  after  the  ordinary  manner."  This,  we  pre 
sume,  is  designed  to  be  a  compliment  to  the  ease  with  which 
he  performed  the  process  of  mental  composition,  and  the  ac 
curacy  with  which  his  memory  could  transfer  what  he  had 
meditated  to  paper.  But  though  he  might  occasionally  per 
form  such  a  feat  for  the  amusement  of  his  friends,  it  never 
could  have  been  his  ordinary  practice. 

As  we  quoted,  at  the  commencement  of  this  essay,  the 
opinion  entertained  of  our  author  by  Coleridge,  we  shall  con 
clude  it  by  citing  that  of  Charles  Lamb,  than  whom  there 
could  not  be  a  more  competent  judge.  "  The  writings  of 
Fuller,"  says  he,  "  are  usually  ^  designated  by  the  title  of 


LIFE    AND    WRITINGS    OF    THOMAS    FULLER.  41 

quaint,  and  with  sufficient  reason ;  for  such  was  his  natural 
bias  to  conceits,  that  I  doubt  not,  upon  most  occasions,  it 
would  have  been  going  out  of  his  way  to  have  expressed  him 
self  out  of  them.  But  his  wit  is  not  always  lumen  siccum,  a 
dry  faculty  of  surprising ;  on  the  contrary,  his  conceits  are 
oftentimes  deeply  steeped  in  human  feeling  and  passion. 
Above  all,  his  way  of  telling  a  story,  for  its  eager  liveliness, 
and  the  perpetual  running  commentary  of  the  narrator,  hap 
pily  blended  with  the  narration,  is  perhaps  unequalled."  * 

*  Since  the  preceding  essay  was  published,  have  appeared  "  Memo 
rials  of  the  Life  and  Works  of  Fuller,  by  Rev.  Arthur  T.  Russell,  B. 
C.  L."  In  that  volume,  all  that  either  history  or  tradition  has  left  re 
specting  our  author  has  been  laboriously  and  faithfully  compiled ;  and 
thither  the  reader,  curious  about  the  biography  of  this  eccentric  genius, 
is  referred  for  more  minute  information  than  could  be  given  in  the  sketch 
at  the  commencement  of  this  essay. 


ANDKEW  MARVELL.* 


ANDREW  MARVELL  was  a  native  of  Kingston-upon-Hull, 
where  he  was  born  November  15,  1620.  His  father,  of 
the  same  name,  was  master  of  the  grammar-school,  and  lec 
turer  of  Trinity  Church  in  that  town.  He  is  described  by 
Fuller  and  Echard  as  "  facetious,"  so  that  his  son's  wit,  it 
would  appear,  was  hereditary.  He  is  also  said  to  have  dis 
played  considerable  eloquence  in  the  pulpit ;  and  even  to 
have  excelled  in  that  kind  of  oratory  which  would  seem  at 
first  sight  least  allied  to  a  mirthful  temperament,  —  that  is, 
the  pathetic.  The  conjunction,  however,  of  keen  wit  and 
deep  sensibility  has  been  found  in  a  far  greater  number  of 
instances  than  would  at  first  sight  be  imagined ;  as  might  be 
easily  proved  by  examples,  if  this  were  the  place  for  it.  Nor 
would  it  be  difficult  to  give  the  rationale  of  the  fact.  Each 
has  its  natural  affinities  with  genius,  and  both  very  generally 
accompany  it. 

The  diligence  of  Mr.  Marvell's  pulpit  preparations  has 
been  celebrated  by  Fuller  in  his  "  Worthies,"  with  character 
istic  quaintness.  "  He  was  a  most  excellent  preacher,"  says 
he,  "  who  never  broached  what  he  had  new  brewed,  but 
preached  what  he  had  pre-studied  some  competent  time  be- 

*  "  Edinburgh  Review,"  January,  1844. 

The  Life  of  Andrew  Marvel! ,  the  celebrated  Patriot ;  with  Extracts  and 
Selections  from  his  Prose  and  Poetical  Works.  BY  JOHN  DOVE.  12mo. 
London.  1832. 


ANDREW   MARVELL.  43 

fore,  insomuch  that  he  was  wont  to  say,  that  he  would  cross 
the  common  proverb,  which  called  Saturday  the  working  day 
and  Monday  the  holiday  of  preachers."  The  eloquence  of 
the  pulpit  he  enforced  by  the  more  persuasive  eloquence  of  a 
consistent  life.  During  the  pestilential  epidemic  of '1637,  we 
are  told  that  he  distinguished  himself  by  an  intrepid  discharge 
of  his  pastoral  functions. 

Having  given  early  indications  of  superior  talents,  young 
Andrew  was  sent,  when  not  quite  fifteen  years  of  age,  to 
Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  where  he  was  partly  or  wholly 
maintained  by  an  exhibition  from  his  native  town.  He  had 
not  been  long  there,  when,  like  Chillingworth,  he  was  en 
snared  by  the  proselyting  arts  of  the  Jesuits ;  who,  with  sub 
tlety  equal  to  their  zeal,  commissioned  their  emissaries  spe 
cially  to  aim  at  the  conversion  of  such  of  the  university 
youths  as  gave  indications  of  signal  ability.  It  appears  that 
he  was  inveigled  from  college  to  London.  Having  been 
tracked  thither  by  his  father,  he  was  discovered  after  some 
months  in  a  bookseller's  shop,  and  restored  to  the  univer 
sity  ;  where,  during  the  two  succeeding  years,  he  pursued 
his  studies  with  diligence.  About  this  period  he  lost  his  fa 
ther  under  circumstances  worth  relating. 

The  death  of  this  good  man  forms  one  of  those  little  do 
mestic  tragedies,  —  not  infrequent  in  real  life,  —  to  which 
imagination  itself  can  scarcely  add  one  touching  incident,  and 
which  are  as  affecting  as  any  that  fiction  can  furnish.  It  ap 
pears  that  on  the  other  side  of  the  Humber  lived  a  lady  (an 
intimate  friend  of  MarvelPs  father)  who  had  an  only  daugh 
ter,  equally  lovely  and  beloved.  This  idol  her  mother  could 
scarcely  bear  to  be  out  of  her  sight.  On  one  occasion,  how 
ever,  she  yielded  to  the  importunity  of  Mr.  Marvell,  and  suf 
fered  her  daughter  to  cross  the  water  to  Hull,  to  be  present 
at  the  baptism  of  one  of  his  children.  The  day  after  the 
ceremony  the  young  lady  was  to  return.  The  weather  was 
tempestuous,  and  on  reaching  the  river's  side,  accompanied 
by^  Mr.  Marvell,  the  boatmen  endeavoured  to  dissuade  'her 


44  ANDREW  MARVELL. 

from  attempting  the  passage.  But,  afraid  of  alarming  her 
mother  by  prolonging  her  absence,  she  persisted.  Mr.  Mar- 
vell  added  his  importunities  to  the  arguments  of  the  boatmen, 
but  in  vain.  Finding  her  inflexible,  he  told  her  that,  as  she 
had  incurred  this  peril  for  his  sake,  he  felt  himself  "  bound 
in  honor  aud  conscience  "  not  to  desert  her ;  and,  having  pre 
vailed  on  some  boatmen  to  hazard  the  passage,  they  em 
barked  together.  As  they  were  putting  off,  he  flung  his 
gold-headed  cane  on  shore,  and  told  the  spectators,  that,  in 
case  he  should  never  return,  it  was  to  be  given  his  son,  with 
the  injunction  "  to  remember  his  father."  The  boat  was  up 
set  and  both  were  lost. 

As  soon  as  the  mother  had  a  little  recovered  the  shock, 
she  sent  for  the  orphan,  intimated  her  intention  to  provide 
for  his  education,  and  at  her  death  left  him  all  she  possessed. 

One  of  his  biographers  informs  us  that  young  Marvell  took 
his  degree  of  B.  A.  in  the  year  1638,  and  was  admitted  to  a 
scholarship.*  If  so,  he  did  not  retain  it  very  long.  Though 
in  no  further  danger  from  the  Jesuits,  he  seems  to  have  been 
beset  by  more  formidable  enemies  in  his  own  bosom.  Either 
from  too  early  becoming  his  own  master,  or  from  being  be 
trayed  into  follies  to  which  his  lively  temperament  and  so 
cial  qualities  peculiarly  exposed  him,  he  became  negligent  of 
his  studies  ;  and  having  absented  himself  from  certain  "  exer 
cises,"  and  otherwise  been  guilty  of  sundry  unacademic  ir 
regularities,  he,  with  four  others,  was  adjudged  by  the  master 
and  seniors  unworthy  of  "  receiving  any  further  benefit  from 
the  college,"  unless  they  showed  just  cause  to  the  contrary 
within  three  months.  The  required  vindication  does  not  ap 
pear  to  have  been  found,  or  at  all  events  was  never  offered. 
The  record  of  this  transaction  bears  date  September  24,  1641. 

Soon  after  this,  probably  at  the  commencement  of  1642, 
Marvell  seems  to  have  set  out  on  his  travels,  in  the  course  of 
which  he  visited  a  great  part  of  Europe.  At  Rome  he 

*  Cooke,  in  the  Life  prefixed  to  Marvell's  Poems.    1726. 


ANDREW    MARVELL.  45 

stayed  a  considerable  time,  where  Milton  was  then  residing, 
and  where,  in  all  probability,  their  lifelong  friendship  com 
menced.  With  an  intrepidity,  characteristic  of  both,  it 
is  said  they  openly  argued  against  the  superstitions  of 
Rome  within  the  precincts  of  the  Vatican.  It  was  here,  also, 
that  Marvell  made  the  first  essay  of  his  satirical  powers  in  a 
lampoon  on  Richard  Flecknoe.  It  is  now  remembered  only 
as  having  suggested  the  more  effective  satire  of  Dryden  on 
the  laureate  Shadwell.  At  Paris  he  made  another  attempt  at 
satire  in  Latin,  of  about  the  same  order  of  merit.  The  sub 
ject  of  it  was  an  abbe  named  Lancelot  Joseph  de  Maniban, 
who  professed  to  interpret  the  characters  and  prognosticate 
the  fortunes  of  strangers  by  an  inspection  of  their  hand 
writing. 

After  this  we  have  no  trace  whatever  of  Marvell  for  some 
years  ;  and  his  biographers  have,  as  usual,  endeavored  to 
supply  the  deficiency  by  conjecture,  —  some  of  them  so  idly, 
that  they  have  made  him  secretary  to  an  embassy  which  had 
then  no  existence. 
,Mr  Dove*  says,  that  this  lack  of  information  respecting 

*  We  gladly  admit  that  Mr.  Dove's  little  volume  is  a  tolerably  full 
and  accurate  compilation  of  what  is  known  to  us  of  Andrew  Marvell's 
history,  and  contains  some  pleasant  extracts  from  his  writings.  But  we 
must  express  our  regret  that  he  has  been,  in  a  trifling  degree,  misled,  by 
adhering  too  literally  to  the  etymology  of  the  word  "  compilation."  It 
is  true  that  "  compilation  "  comes  from  compilatio,  and  equally  true  that 
compilatio  means  "  pillage  " ;  but  it  does  not  follow  that  "  compilation  " 
is  to  be  literally  "  pillage."  A  considerable  number  of  sentences,  some 
times  whole  paragraphs,  are  transferred  from  Mr.  D'Israeli's  Miscella 
nies,  and  from  two  articles  on  Andrew  Marvell  which  appeared  in  the 
"  Retrospective  Review  "  some  thirty  years  ago,  without  alteration,  and 
without  any  sort  of  acknowledgment.  Had  they  been  printed  between 
inverted  commas,  and  the  sources  specified,  we  should  have  called  it 
"  compilation,"  but  no  "pillage";  as  it  is,  we  must  call  it  pillage,  and 
not  compilation.  Mr.  Dove  may,  it  is  true,  have  been  the  author  of  the 
articles  in  question.  If  so,  there  was  no  conceivable  reason  why  he 
should  not  have  owned  them  ;  and  we  can  only  regret  that  he  has  omit 
ted  to  do  it.  If  not,  we  cannot  justify  the  use  he  has  made  of  them. 


46  ANDREW    MARVELL. 

Marvell  extends  over  eleven  years ;  —  not  quite,  however,  even 
on  his  own  showing  ;  for  the  very  next  record  he  supplies 
tells  us  at  least  how  the  first  four  years  of  this  period  were 
spent,  and  a  considerable  though  indeterminate  portion  at  the 
close  of  it.  The  record  referred  to  is  a  recommendatory  letter 
of  Milton  to  Bradshaw,  dated  February  21,  1652.  It  ap 
pears  that  Marvell  was  then  an  unsuccessful  candidate  for  the 
office  of  assistant  Latin  secretary.  In  this  letter,  after  de 
scribing  Marvell  as  a  man  of  "  singular  desert,"  both  from 
"  report "  and  personal  "  converse,"  he  proceeds  to"  say  : 
"  He  hath  spent  four  years  abroad,  in  Holland,  France,  Italy, 
and  Spain,  to  very  good  purpose,  as  I  believe,  and  the  gain 
ing  of  those  four  languages ;  besides,  he  is  a  scholar,  and 
well  read  in  the 'Latin  and  Greek  authors,  and  no  doubt  of  an 
approved  conversation ;  for  he  comes  now  lately  out  of  the 
house  of  the  Lord  Fairfax,  where  he  was  intrusted  to  give 
some  instructions  in  the  languages  to  the  lady,  his  daughter" 
Milton  concludes  the  letter  with  a  sentence  which  fully  dis 
closes  the  very  high  estimate  he  had  formed  of  Marvell's 
abilities  :  "  This,  my  lord,  I  write  sincerely,  without  any 
other  end  than  to  perform  my  duty  to  the  public  in  helping 
them  to  a  humble  servant ;  laying  aside  those  jealousies  and 
that  emulation  which  mine  own  condition  might  suggest  to 
me  by  bringing  in  such  a  coadjutor." 

In  the  following  year,  1653,  Marvell  was  appointed  tutor 
to  Cromwell's  nephew,  Mr.  Button.  Shortly  after  receiving 
his  charge,  he  addressed  a  letter  to  the  Protector,  from  which 
we  extract  one  or  two  sentences  characteristic  of  his  caution, 
good  sense,  and  conscientiousness.  "  I  have  taken  care," 
says  he,  speaking  of  his  pupil,  "  to  examine  him  several  times 
in  the  presence  of  Mr.  Oxenbridge,  as  those  who  weigh  and 
tell  over  money  before  some  witness  ere  they  take  charge  of 
it ;  for  I  thought  there  might  be  possibly  some  lightness  in 
the  coin,  or  error  in  the  telling,  which  hereafter  I  should  be 

bound  to  make  good." l:  He  is  of  a  gentle  and  waxen 

disposition ;  and  God  be  praised,  I  cannot  say  he  hath  brought 


ANDREW   MARVELL.  47 

with  him  any  evil  impression,  and  I  shall  hope  to  set  nothing 
into  his  spirit  but  what  may  be  of  a  good  sculpture.  He  hath 
in  him  two  things  that  make  youth  most  easy  to  be  managed, 
—  modesty,  which  is  the  bridle  to  vice,  and  emulation, 

which  is  the  spur  to  virtue Above  all,  I  shall  labor  to 

make  him  sensible  of  his  duty  to  God  ;  for  then  we  begin  to 
serve  faithfully  when  we  consider  He  is  our  master." 

On  the  publication  of  Milton's  second  "  Defence,"  Marvell 
was  commissioned  to  present  it  to  the  Protector.  After  doing 
so,  he  addressed  a  letter  of  compliment  to  Milton,  the  terms 
of  which  evince  the  natural  admiration  with  which  his  illus 
trious  friend  had  inspired  him.  His  eulogy  of  the  "  De 
fence  "  is  as  emphatic  as  that  of  the  Paradise  Lost,  in  the 
well-known  recommendatory  lines  prefixed  to  most  editions 
of  that  poem. 

In  1657,  Marvell  entered  upon  his  duties  as  assistant  Latin 
secretary  with  Milton  ;  Cromwell  died  in  the  following  year ; 
and  from  this  period  till  the  Parliament  of  1660,  there  is  no 
further  trace  of  him.  We  have  seen  it  affirmed  that  he  be 
came  member  for  Hull  in  1658.  But  this  is  not  true,  and 
would  be  at  variance  with  the  statement  in  his  epitaph,  where 
it  is  said  that  he  had  occupied  that  post  nearly  twenty  years. 
Had  he  been  first  elected  in  1658,  he  would  have  been  mem 
ber  somewhat  more  than  that  period. 

During  his  long  Parliamentary  career,  Marvell  maintained 
a  close  correspondence  with  his  constituents,  —  regularly 
sending  to  them,  almost  every  post-night  during  the  sittings 
of  Parliament,  an  account  of  its  proceedings.  These  letters 
were  first  made  public  by  Captain  Thompson,  and  occupy 
about  four  hundred  pages  of  the  first  volume  of  his  edition 
of  MarvelPs  works.  They  are  written  with  great  plainness, 
and  with  a  business-like  brevity,  which  must  have  satisfied, 
we  should  think,  even  the  most  laconic  of  his  merchant  con 
stituents.  They  are  chiefly  valuable  now,  as  affording  proofs 
of  the  ability  and  fidelity  with  which  their  author  discharged 
his  public  duties;  and  as  throwing  light  on  some  curious 


48  ANDREW   MARVELL. 

points  of  Parliamentary  usage  and  history.  Some  few  sen 
tences,  interesting  on  these  accounts,  may  be  worth  extract 
ing.  Of  his  diligence,  the  copiousness  and  punctuality  of 
the  correspondence  itself  are  themselves  the  best  proofs  ; 
but  many  of  the  letters  incidentally  disclose  others  not  less 
significant.  The  following  evidence  of  it,  few  members  now- 
a-days  would  be  disposed  to  give,  and  no  constituency,  we 
should  imagine,  would  be  unreasonable  enough  to  expect : 
"  Sir,  I  must  beg  your  excuse  for  paper,  pens,  writing,  and 
every  thing ;  for  really  I  have  by  ill  chance  neither  eat  nor 
drank  from  yesterday  at  noon  till  six  o'clock  to-night,  that 
the  House  rose."  *  And  again  :  "  Really  the  business  of 
the  House  hath  been  of  late  so  earnest  daily,  and  so  long,  that 
I  have  not  had  the  time  and  scarce  vigor  left  me,  by  night,  to 
write  to  you  ;  and  to-day,  because  I  would  not  omit  any 
longer,  I  lose  my  dinner  to  make  sure  of  this  letter."  t  On 
another  occasion  he  says  :  "  'T  is  nine  at  night,  and  we  are 
but  just  now  risen  ;  and  I  write  these  few  words  in  the  post- 
house,  for  sureness  that  my  letter  be  not  too  late."  J  In  one 
letter  we  find  him  saying  :  "  I  am  something  bound  up,  that 
I  cannot  write  about  your  public  affairs  ;  but  I  assure  you 
they  break  my  sleep"  § 

Of  his  minute  attention  to  all  their  local  interests,  and  his 
vigilant  care  over  them,  these  letters  afford  ample  proof;  and 
in  this  respect  are  not  unworthy  of  the  study  of  honorable 
members  of  the  present  day.  He  usually  commences  each 
session  of  Parliament  by  requesting  his  constituents  to  con 
sider,  whether  there  were  any  local  affairs  in  which  they 
might  more  particularly  require  his  aid,  and  to  give  him 
timely  notice  of  their  wishes.  His  prudence  is  conspicuous 
in  his  abstinence  from  any  dangerous  comments  on  public 
affairs  ;  he  usually  contents  himself  with  detailing  bare  facts. 
This  caution  was  absolutely  necessary  at  a  period  when  the 


*  Marvell's  Letters,  p.  302.  t  Ibid.,  p.  83. 

\  Ibid.,  p.  106.  §  Ibid.,  p.  33. 


ANDREW    MARVELL.  49 

officials  of  the  post-office  made  no  scruple  of  breaking  the 
seal  of  private  correspondence  for  the  purpose  of  obtaining 
information  for  the  government.  On  one  occasion  this  seems 
to  have  been  done  in  his  own  case.  He  tells  his  constituents 
that  a  letter  of  his  had  been  shown  about  town :  they,  in  a 
very  complimentary  reply,  vehemently  disclaim  all  knowl- 
-edge  of  any  breach  of  trust.  In  acknowledging,  this  letter, 
he  says :  "  I  am  very  well  satisfied,  Gentlemen,  by  your 
letter,  that  it  was  none  of  you  ;  but  it  seems,  therefore,  that 
there  is  some  sentinel  set  both  upon  you  and  upon  me,  and  to 
know  it,  therefore,  is  a  sufficient  caution  :  the  best  of  it  is,  that 
none  of  us,  I  believe,  either  do  say  or  write  any  thing,  but 
what  we  care  not  though  it  be  made  public,  although  we  do 
not  desire  it."  *  He,  notwithstanding,  repeatedly  admon 
ishes  them  not  to  let  his  letters  be  seen  by  any  but  them 
selves.  In  this  respect,  there  is  a  striking  yet  perfectly  nat 
ural  contrast  between  the  cautious  statements  of  facts  in  his 
public  correspondence,  and  the  lively  comments  upon  them 
in  his  private  letters  ;  in  which  his  indignant  patriotism  ex 
presses  itself  with  characteristic  severity  against  the  corrup 
tions  of  the  court.  Thus,  in  a  letter  to  a  friend  in  Persia,  we 
find  the  following  memorable  passage  :  "  Now,  after  my 
usual  method,  leaving  to  others  what  relates  to  business,  I 
address  myself,  which  is  all  that  I  am  good  for,  to  be  your 
gazetteer.  The  King  having,  upon  pretence  of  the  great 
preparations  of  his  neighbors,  demanded  three  hundred  thou 
sand  pounds  for  his  navy  (though,  in  conclusion,  he  hath  not 
set  out  any),  and  that  the  Parliament  should  pay  his  debts 
(which  the  ministers  would  never  particularize  to  the  House 
of  Commons),  our  House  gave  several  bills.  You  see  how 
far  things  were  stretched,  though  beyond  reason,  there  being 
no  satisfaction  how  those  debts  were  contracted,  and  all  men 
foreseeing  that  what  was  given  would  not  be  applied  to  dis 
charge  the  debts,  which  I  hear  are  at  this  day  risen  to  four 

*  Marvell's  Letters,  p.  262. 
5 


50  ANDREW   MARVELL. 

millions  ;  but  diverted,  as  formerly.  Nevertheless,  such  was 
the  number  of  the  constant  courtiers  increased  by  the  apos 
tate  patriots,  who  were  bought  off  for  that  turn,  some  at 
six,  others  ten,  one  at  fifteen  thousand  pounds  in  money,  be 
sides  what  offices,  lands,  and  reversions  to  others,  that  it  is  a 
mercy  they  gave  not  away  the  whole  land  and  liberty  of  Eng 
land."  * 

In  the  same  letter,  he  thus  speaks  of  the  shamelessness 
with  which  the  Parliament  emulated  the  profligacy  of  the 
court,  —  prostituting  its  own  and  the  nation's  honor  as  vilely 
as  the  royal  mistresses  it  enriched  had  prostituted  theirs :  — 
"  They  have  signed  and  sealed  ten  thousand  pounds  a  year 
more  to  the  Duchess  of  Cleveland,  who  has  likewise  near  ten 
thousand  pounds  a  year  out  of  the  new  farm  of  the  country 
excise  of  beer  and  ale,  five  thousand  pounds  a  year  out  of 
the  post-office,  and,  they  say,  the  reversion  of  all  the  King's 
leases,  the  reversion  of  all  places  in  the  custom-house,  the 
green  wax,  and  indeed  what  not  ?  All  promotions,  spiritual 
and  temporal,  pass  under  her  cognizance."  t  On  the  King's 
unwelcome  visits  to  the  House  of  Peers,  he  says :  "  Being 
sat,  he  told  them  it  was  a  privilege  he  claimed  from  his  an 
cestors  to  be  present  at  their  deliberations.  That  therefore 
they  should  not,  for  his  coming,  interrupt  their  debates,  but 
proceed,  and  be  covered.  They  did  so.  It  is  true  that  this 
has  been  done  long  ago ;  but  is  now  so  old  that  it  is  new, 
and  so  disused  that,  at  any  other  but  so  bewitched  a  time  as 
this,  it  would  have  been  looked  on  as  a  high  usurpation  and 
breach  of  privilege.  He  indeed  sat  still,  for  the  most  part, 

and  interposed  very  little,  sometimes  a  word  or  two 

After  three  or  four  days'  continuance,  the  Lords  were  very 
well  used  to  the  King's  presence,  and  sent  the  Lord  Steward 
and  Lord  Chamberlain  to  him,  [to  learn]  when  they  might 
wait,  as  a  House,  on  him,  to  render  their  humble  thanks  for 
the  honor  he  did  them  ?  The  hour  was  appointed  them,  and 

*  Marvell's  Letters,  p.  405.  t  Ibid.,  p.  406. 


ANDREW    MARVELL.  51 

they  thanked  him,  and  he  took  it  well.     So  this  matter,  of 
such  importance  on  all  great  occasions,  seems  riveted  to  them 

and  us,  for  the  future,  and  to  all  posterity The  King 

has  ever  since  continued  his  session  among  them,  and  says  it 
is  better  than  going  to  a  play"  * 

Marvell's  stainless  probity  and  honor  everywhere  appear ; 
and  in  no  case  more  amiably  than  in  the  misunderstanding 
with  his  colleague,  or  "  his  partner,"  as  he  calls  him,  Colonel 
Gilby,  in  1661,  and  which  seems  to  have  arisen  out  of  some 
electioneering  proceedings.  With  such  uncommon  talents 
for  ridicule  as  Marvell  possessed,  inferior  men  could  not  have 
resisted  the  temptation  to  indulge  in  some  ebullition  of  witty 
malice.  But  his  magnanimity  was  far  superior  to  such  mean 
retaliation.  He  is  eager  to  do  his  opponent  the  amplest  jus 
tice,  and  to  put  the  fairest  construction  on  his  conduct.  He 
is  fearful  only  lest  their  private  quarrel  should  be  of  the 
slightest  detriment  to  the  public  service.  He  says :  "  The 
bonds  of  civility  betwixt  Colonel  Gilby  and  myself  being 
unhappily  snapped  in  pieces,  and  in  such  a  manner  that  I 
cannot  see  how  it  is  possible  ever  to  knit  them  again  :  the 
only  trouble  that  I  have  is,  lest  by  our  mis-intelligence  your 

business  should  receive  any  disadvantage Truly,  I 

believe,  that  as  to  your  public  trust  and  the  discharge  thereof, 
we  do  each  of  us  still  retain  the  same  principles  upon  which 
we  first  undertook  it ;  and  that,  though  perhaps  we  may  some 
times  differ  in  our  advice  concerning  the  way  of  proceeding, 
yet  we  have  the  same  good  ends  in  the  general ;  and  by  this 
unlucky  falling  out,  we  shall  be  provoked  to  a  greater  emu 
lation  of  serving  you."  t  Yet  the  offence,  whatever  it  was, 
must  have  been  a  grave  one,  for  we  find  him  saying,  at  the 
conclusion  of  the  same  letter :  "  I  would  not  tell  you  any 
tales  because  there  are  nakednesses  which  it  becomes  us  to 
cover,  if  it  be  possible  ;  as  I  shall,  unless  I  be  obliged  to  make 
some  vindications  by  any  false  report  or  misinterpretations. 

*  Marvell's  Letters,  pp.  417  -419.  t  Ibid.,  pp.  33,  34. 


52  ANDREW   MARVELL. 

In  the  mean  time,  pity,  I  beseech  you,  my  weakness  ;  for 
there  are  some  things  which  men  ought  not,  others  that  they 
cannot,  patiently  suffer"  * 

Of  his  integrity  even  in  little  things,  —  of  his  desire  to 
keep  his  conscience  pure  and  his  reputation  untarnished,  — 
we  have  also  some  striking  proofs.  On  one  occasion  he  had 
been  employed  by  his  constituents  to  wait  on  the  Duke  of 
Monmouth,  then  governor  of  Hull,  with  a  complimentary 
letter,  and  to  present  him  with  a  purse  containing  "  six  broad 
pieces  "  as  an  honorary  fee.  He  says  :  "  He  had,  before 
I  came  in,  as  I  was  told,  considered  what  to  do  with  the  gold  ; 
and  but  that  I  by  all  means  prevented  the  offer,  I  had  been 
in  danger  of  being  reimbursed  with  it."  t  In  the  same  letter 
he  says:  "I  received  the  bill  which  was  sent  me  on  Mr. 
Nelehorpe  ;  but  the  surplus  of  it  exceeding  much  the  expense 
I  have  been  at  on  this  occasion,  I  desire  you  to  make  use  of 
it,  and  of  me,  upon  any  other  opportunity."  J  Few  in  those 
corrupt  days  were  likely  to  be  troubled  with  any  such  incon 
venient  scrupulosity. 

In  one  of  his  letters  appears  the  following  declaration, 
which  we  have  no  doubt  was  perfectly  sincere,  and,  what  is 
still  more  strange,  implicitly  believed  :  — "I  shall,  God  will 
ing,  maintain  the  same  incorrupt  mind  and  clear  conscience, 
free  from  faction  or  any  self-ends,  which  I  have,  by  his  grace, 
hitherto  preserved. "§ 

We  have  said  that  these  letters  are  also  interesting  as  inci 
dentally  illustrating  Parliamentary  usage.  Marvell  was  one 
of  the  last,  —  if  not  the  very  last,  —  who  received  the 
"  wages  "  which  members  were  entitled  by  law  to  demand 
of  their  constituents.  To  this  subject  he  makes  some  curious 
references.  On  more  than  one  occasion,  it  appears  that 
members  had  sued  their  constituents  for  arrears  of  pay  ; 
while  others  had  threatened  to  do  so,  unless  the  said  constitu- 

*  MarvelPs  Letters,  p,  36.  t  Ibid.,  p.  210. 

|  Ibid.,  p.  210.  §  Ibid.,  p.  276. 


ANDREW   MARVELL.  53 

ents  agreed  to  reelect  them  at  the  next  election  !  "  To-day," 
says  he  in  a  letter  dated  March  3,  1676  -  7,  "  Sir  Harbottle 
Grimstone,  Master  of  the  Rolls,  moved  for  a  bill  to  be  brought 
in,  to  indemnify  all  counties,  cities,  and  boroughs  for  the 
wages  due  to  their  members  for  the  time  past,  which  was  in 
troduced  by  him  upon  very  good  reason ;  both  because  of 
the  poverty  of  many  people  not  able  to  supply  so  long  an 
arrear,  especially  new  taxes  now  coming  upon  them,  and 
also  because  Sir  John  Shaw,  the  Recorder  of  Colchester, 
had  sued  the  town  for  his  wages  ;  several  other  members 
also  having,  it  seems,  threatened  their  boroughs  to  do  the 
same,  unless  they  should  choose  them,  upon  another  election, 
to  Parliament."  *  The  conditions  of  reelection  are  strange 
ly  altered  now  ;  it  is  no  longer  possible  to  drive  so  thrifty 
a  bargain,  or  bribe  after  so  ingenious  a  fashion.  But  these 
"  wages,"  moderate  as  they  were, — only  about  two  shillings  a 
day  to  a  member  of  a  borough,  and  to  a  county  member 
four,  —  were  in  some  cases  alleged  to  be  so  heavy  a  tax, 
that  instances  occur  of  unpatriotic  boroughs  begging  to  be 
disfranchised,  to  escape  the  intolerable  honor  of  sending 
members  to  Parliament !  Nor  was  the  reluctance  always  on 
one  side.  At  earlier  periods  of  our  history  we  have  accounts 
of  members  who,  notwithstanding  this  liberal  pay,  —  not 
much  more  than  that  of  a  hedger  and  ditcher  in  these  more 
luxurious  days,  —  found  the  inconveniences  of  membership 
so  great,  and  the  honor  in  their  unambitious  estimate  so 
small,  that  they  shrank  from  representing  a  borough,  as 
much  as  the  borough  from  the  dignity  of  being  represented  ; 
and  expressed  their  aversion  with  as  much  sincerity  as  ever 
primitive  bishop,  in  times  of  persecution,  cried,  "  Nolo  episco- 
pari"  There  are  authentic  cases  on  record,  in  which  the 
candidates  fairly  ran  away  from  the  proffered  dignity,  and 
even  resisted  it  vi  et  armis.  Strange  revolutions  !  one  is 
ready  to  exclaim  ;  —  that  a  man  should  now  be  willing  to 


Marvell's  Letters,  p.  289. 
5* 


54  ANDREW    MARVELL. 

spend  a  fortune  even  in  the  unsuccessful  pursuit  of  an  honor 
which  his  ancestors  were  reluctant  to  receive  even  when  paid 
for  it ;  and  that  constituencies  should  resist,  as  the  last  insult 
and  degradation,  that  disfranchisement  which  many  of  them 
in  ancient  times  would  have  been  but  too  happy  to  accept  as 
a  privilege  ! 

In  such  a  state  of  things  we  can  hardly  wonder  that  the 
attendance  of  members  was  not  very  prompt  and  punctual, 
or  that  great  difficulty  was  often  found  in  obtaining  a  full 
House.  Severe  penalties  were  threatened  at  various  times 
against  the  absentees.  In  one  letter  we  are  told  :  "  The 
House  was  called  yesterday,  and  gave  defaulters  a  fortnight's 
time,  by  which,  if  they  do  not  come  up,  they  may  expect  the 
greatest  severity."  *  In  another  :  "  The  House  of  Com 
mons  was  taken  up  for  the  most  part  yesterday  in  calling 
over  their  House,  and  have  ordered  a  letter  to  be  drawn  up 
from  the  Speaker  to  every  place  for  which  there  is  any  de 
faulter,  to  signify  the  absence  of  their  member,  and  a  solemn 
letter  is  accordingly  preparing,  to  be  signed  by  the  Speaker. 
This  is  thought  a  sufficient  punishment  for  any  modest  man  ; 
nevertheless,  if  they  shall  not  come  up  hereupon,  there  is  a 
further  severity  reserved."  t 

More  than  once  we  find  a  proposition,  that  these  absentees 
should  be  punished  by  being  compelled  to  pay  double  propor 
tions  toward  the  interminable  subsidies.  One  member  pro 
posed  that  the  mulcts  thus  extorted  from  negligent  or  idle 
senators,  should  be  exclusively  employed  in  building  a  ship, 
to  be  called  "  The  Sinners'  Frigate,"  —  surely  an  ill-boding 
name,  however  applicable  to  such  a  vessel :  — 

"  Built  in  the  eclipse,  and  rigged  with  curses  dark." 

Though  the  law-makers  of  that  age  were  paid  at  little  more 
than  the  rate  of  a  journeyman  tailor  of  modern  times,  still  it 
appears  that  their  performances,  if  estimated  by  their  value, 

*  Marvell's  Letters,  p.  1 17.  t  Ibid.,  p.  240. 


ANDREW   MARVELL.  55 

were  exorbitantly  overpaid.  When  we  see  in  Marvell's  cor 
respondence  what  were  the  occupations  of  the  right  honorable 
House,  —  shamefully  betraying  the  nation  with  whose  in 
terests  they  were  intrusted,  —  taxing  the  groaning  people  to 
support  the  royal  profligacy,  —  ingeniously  contriving  the 
most  elaborate  and  comprehensive  methods  of  national  ruin, 
and  pursuing  the  worst  ends  by  the  worst  means,  —  dimin 
ishing,  by  their  absurd  enactments  in  relation  to  trade  and 
commerce,  that  very  revenue  which  was  almost  their  sole 
object  of  solicitude,  —  addressing  the  King,  that  he  will  be 
pleased  to  abstain  from  wearing  one  shred  of  foreign  manu 
facture,  and  to  discountenance  the  use  of  it  in  his  subjects, — 
bringing  in  bills  that  all  nonconformists  shall  pay  double 
taxes,  and  that  all  persons  shall  be  buried  in  woollens  "  for  the 
next  six  or  seven  years"; — when  we  see  them  engaged 
with  pernicious  industry  in  these  and  other  things  of  a  similar 
nature,  we  cannot  forbear  lifting  up  our  hands  in  admiration 
of  the  "  wisdom  of  our  ancestors." 

Some  strange  scenes  appear  now  and  then  to  have  oc 
curred  in  the  Commons,  and  worthy  rather  of  an  Arkansas 
House  of  Assembly  than  of  a  British  Parliament ;  of  which 
the  following  is  an  example.  As  usual  in  such  squabbles, 
the  "  Pickwickian  construction  "  of  all  offensive  words  seems 
to  have  prevailed  at  last.  "  One  day,  upon  a  dispute  of  tell 
ing  right  upon  division,  both  parties  grew  so  hot  that  all  order 
was  lost ;  men  came  running  up  confusedly  to  the  table, 
grievously  affronted  one  by  another ;  every  man's  hand  on 
his  hilt,  quieted  though  at  last  by  the  prudence  of  the 
Speaker  ;  every  man  in  his  place  being  obliged  to  stand  up 
and  engage  his  honor  not  to  resent  any  thing  of  that  day's 
proceeding."  * 

The  disputes  with  the  House  of  Lords  were  frequent,  and 
difficult  of  adjustment.  The  following  is  a  droll  complica 
tion  of  their  relations,  and  almost  as  hopeless  as  the  cele- 

'   *  Marvell's  Letters,  p.  426. 


56  ANDREW   MARVELL. 

brated  "  dead-lock "  in  the  "  Critic "  :  —  "I  have  no  more 
time  than  to  tell  you,  that  the  Lords,  having  judged  and  fined 
the  East  India  Company,  as  we  think  illegally,  upon  the 
petition  of  one  Skyner,  a  merchant,  and  they  petitioning  us  for 
redress,  we  have  imprisoned  him  that  petitioned  them,  and 

they  have  imprisoned  several  of  those  that  petitioned  us 

It  is  a  business  of  very  high  and  dangerous  consequence."  * 

In  a  letter  to  William  Ramsden,  Esq.,  occurs  another 
specimen  of  the  awkward  relations  between  the  two  Houses : 
—  "I  think  I  have  not  told  you  that,  on  our  bill  of  subsidy, 
the  Lord  Lucas  made  a  fervent  bold  speech  against  our  prodi 
gality  in  giving,  and  the  weak  looseness  of  the  government, 
the  King  being  present ;  and  the  Lord  Clare  another,  to  per 
suade  the  King  that  he  ought  not  to  be  present.  But  all  this 
had  little  encouragement,  not  being  seconded.  Copies  going 
about  everywhere,  one  of  them  was  brought  into  the  Lords' 
House,  and  Lord  Lucas  was  asked  whether  it  was  his.  He 
said,  part  was  and  part  was  not.  Thereupon  they  took  ad 
vantage,  and  said  it  was  a  libel  even  against  Lucas  himself. 
On  this  they  voted  it  a  libel,  and  to  be  burned  by  the  hang 
man,  which  was  done ;  but  the  sport  was,  the  hangman 
burned  the  Lords'  order  with  it.  I  take  the  last  quarrel  be 
twixt  us  and  the  Lords  to  be  as  the  ashes  of  that  speech."  t 

One  or  two  other  brief  extracts  from  these  letters  seem  not 
unworthy  of  insertion.  The  following  is  a  curious  example 
of  the  odd  accidents  on  which  important  events  often  depend. 
Sir  G.  Carteret  had  been  charged  with  embezzlement  of  pub 
lic  money.  "  The  House  dividing  upon  the  question,  the 
ayes  went  out,  and  wondered  why  they  were  kept  out  so  ex 
traordinary  a  time ;  the  ayes  proved  138,  and  the  noes  129 ; 
and  the  reason  of  the  long  stay  then  appeared :  —  The  tellers 
for  the  ayes  chanced  to  be  very  ill  reckoners,  so  that  they  were 
forced  to  tell  several  times  over  in  the  House  ;  and  when  at  last 
the  tellers  for  the  ayes  would  have  agreed  the  noes  to  be  142, 

*  Marvell's  Letters,  p.  106.  t  Ibid.,  p.  416. 


ANDREW  MARVELL.  57 

the  noes  would  needs  say  that  they  were  143 ;  whereupon 
those  for  the  ayes  would  tell  once  more,  and  then  found  the 
noes  to  be  indeed  but  129,  and  the  ayes  then  coming  in 
proved  to  be  138,  whereas  if  the  noes  had  been  content  with 
the  first  error  of  the  tellers,  Sir  George  had  been  quit  upon 
that  observation."  * 

The  following  sounds  odd  :  —  "  Yesterday,  upon  complaint 
of  some  violent  arrests  made  in  several  churches,  even  during 
sermon  time,  nay,  of  one  taken  out  betwixt  the  bread  and  the 
cup  in  receiving  the  sacrament,  the  House  ordered  that  a  bill 
be  brought  in  for  better  observing  the  Lord's  Day."  t 

Not  seldom,  to  the  very  moderate  "  wages  "  of  a  legisla 
tor,  was  added  some  homely  expression  of  good-will  on  the 
part  of  the  constituents.  That  of  the  Hull  people  generally 
appeared  in  the  shape  of  a  stout  cask  of  ale,  for  which 
Marvell  repeatedly  returns  thanks.  In  one  letter  he  says: 
"  We  must  first  give  you  thanks  for  the  kind  present  you 
have  pleased  to  send  us,  which  will  give  occasion  to  us  to  re 
member  you  often :  but  the  quantity  is  so  great  that  it  might 
make  sober  men  forgetful."  \ 

MarvelPs  correspondence  extends  through  nearly  twenty 
years.  From  June,  1661,  there  is,  however,  a  considerable 
break,  owing  to  his  absence  for  an  unknown  period,  —  prob 
ably  about  two  years,  —  in  Holland.  He  showed  little  dis 
position  to  return  till  Lord  Bellasis,  then  High  Steward  of 
Hull,  proposed  to  that  worthy  corporation  to  choose  a  substi 
tute  for  their  absent  member.  They  replied  that  he  was  not 
far  off,  and  would  be  ready  at  their  summons.  He  was  then 
at  Frankfort,  and  at  the  solicitation  of  his  constituents  imme 
diately  returned,  April,  1663. 

But  he  had  not  been  more  than  three  months  at  home, 
when  he  intimated  to  his  correspondents  his  intention  to  ac 
cept  an  invitation  to  accompany  Lord  Carlisle,  who  had  been 

*  Marvell's  Letters,  pp.  125,  126.  t  Ibid.,  p.  189. 

J  Ibid.,  pp.  14,  15. 


58  ANDREW   MARVELL. 

appointed  Ambassador  Extraordinary  to  Russia,  Sweden,  and 
Denmark.  He  formally  solicits  the  assent  of  his  constituents 
to  this  step,  urges  the  precedents  for  it,  and  assures  them 
that,  during  his  watchful  colleague's  attendance,  his  own 
services  may  be  dispensed  with.  His  constituents  consented. 
He  sailed  in  July,  and  appears  to  have  been  absent  rather 
more  than  a  year.  We  find  him  in  his  place  in  the  Parlia 
ment  that  assembled  at  Oxford,  1665. 

In  1671,  for  some  unknown  reason,  there  is  another  hiatus 
in  his  correspondence.  It  extends  over  three  years.  From 
1674,  the  letters  are  regularly  continued  till  his  death. 
There  is  no  proof  that  he  ever  spoke  in  Parliament ;  but  it 
appears  that  he  took  copious  notes  of  all  the  debates. 

The  decisive  tone  which  Marvell  ever  assumed  in  politics, 
—  the  severe,  satirical  things  which  he  had  said  and  written 
from  time  to  time,  —  and  the  conviction  of  his  enemies,  that 
it  was  impossible  to  silence  him  by  the  usual  methods  of  a 
place  or  a  bribe,  must  have  rendered  a  wary  and  circumspect 
conduct  peculiarly  necessary ;  and,  in  fact,  we  are  told  that 
on  more  than  one  occasion  he  was  menaced  with  assassina 
tion.  But,  though  hated  by  the  Court  party  generally,  he 
was  as  generally  feared,  and  in  some  few  instances  respected. 
Prince  Rupert  continued  to  honor  him  with  his  friendship 
long  after  the  rest  of  the  Court  party  had  honored  him  with 
their  hatred,  and  occasionally  visited  the  patriot  at  his  lodg 
ings.  When  he  voted  on  the  side  of  Marvell,  which  was  not 
unfrequently  the  case,  it  used  to  be  said  that  u  he  had  been 
with  his  tutor." 

Inaccessible  as  Marvell  was  to  flattery  and  offers  of  prefer 
ment,  it  certainly  was  not  for  want  of  temptations.  The  ac 
count  of  his  memorable  interview  with  the  Lord  Treasurer 
Danby  has  been  often  repeated,  and  yet  it  would  be  un 
pardonable  to  omit  it  here.  Marvell,  it  appears,  once  spent 
an  evening  at  Court,  and  charmed  the  merry  monarch  by  his 
accomplishments  and  wit.  At  this  we  need  not  wonder: 
Charles  loved  wit  above  all  things  —  except  vice ;  and  to  his 


ANDREW   MARVELL.  59 

admiration  of  it  he  was  continually  sacrificing  his  royal  dig 
nity.  On  the  morning  after  the  above-mentioned  interview, 
he  sent  Lord  Danby  to  wait  on  the  patriot  with  a  special  mes 
sage  of  regard.  His  Lordship  had  some  difficulty  in  ferreting 
out  Marvell's  residence ;  but  at  last  found  him  on  a  second 
floor,  in  a  dark  court  leading  out  of  the  Strand.  It  is  said 
that,  groping  up  the  narrow  staircase,  he  stumbled  against 
the  door  of  Marvell's  humble  apartment,  which,  flying  open, 
discovered  him  writing.  Not  a  little  surprised,  he  asked  his 
Lordship,  with  a  smile,  if  he  had  not  mistaken  his  way.  The 
latter  replied,  in  courtly  phrase,  "  No ;  since  I  have  found 
Mr.  Marvell."  He  proceeded  to  inform  him  that  he  came 
with  a  message  from  the  King,  who  was  impressed  with  a 
deep  sense  of  his  merits,  and  was  anxious  to  serve  him. 
Marvell  replied,  with  somewhat  of  the  spirit  of  the  founder  of 
the  Cynics,  but  no  doubt  in  a  very  different  manner,  "  that  his 
Majesty  had  it  not  in  his  power  to  serve  him."  *  Becoming 
more  serious,  however,  he  told  his  Lordship  that  he  well  knew 
that  he  who  accepted  Court  favors  was  expected  to  vote  in 
his  interest.  On  his  Lordship's  saying,  "  that  his  Majesty 
only  desired  to  know  whether  there  was  any  place  at  Court 
he  would  accept,"  the  patriot  replied,  "  that  he  could  ac 
cept  nothing  with  honor ;  for  either  he  must  treat  the  King 
with  ingratitude,  by  refusing  compliance  with  Court  meas 
ures,  or  be  a  traitor  to  his  country  by  yielding  to  them." 

*  Another  and  less  authentic  version  of  this  anecdote  has  been  long 
current,  much  more  circumstantial,  indeed,  but  on  that  very  account 
more  apocryphal.  If  the  too  dramatic  additions  to  the  story,  however, 
be  fictions,  they  are  amongst  those  fictions  which  have  gained  extensive 
circulation  only  because  they  are  felt  to  be  not  intrinsically  improbable. 
Some  pains  have  been  taken  to  investigate  the  origin  of  this  version ; 
but  we  can  trace  it  no  further  than  to  a  pamphlet  printed  in  Ireland 
about  the  middle  of  the  last  century.  Of  this  we  have  not  been  so 
fortunate  as  to  get  a  sight.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  the  narrative  it  con 
tains  of  the  above  interview,  and  which  has  been  extensively  circulated, 
is  not  borne  out  by  the  early  biographies ;  for  example,  that  of  Cooke, 
1726. 


60  ANDKEW   MARVELL. 

The  only  favor,  therefore,  he  begged  of  his  Majesty  was,  to 
esteem  him  as  a  loyal  subject,  and  truer  to  his  interests  in 
refusing  his  offers  than  he  could  be  by  accepting  them.  His 
Lordship,  having  exhausted  this  species  of  logic,  tried  the 
argumentum  ad  crumenam,  and  told  him  that  his  Majesty  re 
quested  his  acceptance  of  .£1,000.  But  this,  too,  was  rejected 
with  firmness ;  "  though,"  says  his  biographer,  "  soon  after 
the  departure  of  his  Lordship,  Marvell  was  compelled  to  bor 
row  a  guinea  from  a  friend." 

In  1672  commenced  Marvell's  memorable  controversy 
with  Samuel  Parker,  afterwards  Bishop  of  Oxford,  of  which 
we  shall  give  a  somewhat  copious  account.  To  this  it  is  en 
titled,  from  the  important  influence  which  it  had  on  Marvell's 
reputation  and  fortunes  ;  and  as  having  led  to  the  composition 
of  that  work  on  which  his  literary  fame,  so  far  as  he  has  any, 
principally  depends,  —  "  The  Rehearsal  Transprosed." 

Parker  was  one  of  the  worst  specimens  of  the  highest  of 
the  high-churchmen  of  the  reign  of  Charles  II.  It  is  diffi 
cult,  in  such  times  as  these,  to  conceive  of  such  a  character 
as,  by  universal  testimony,  Parker  is  proved  to  have  been. 
Even  Addison's  Tory  fox-hunter  —  who  thought  there  had 
been  "  no  good  weather  since  the  Revolution,"  and  who  pro 
ceeded  to  descant  on  the  "  fine  days  they  used  to  have  in 
King  Charles  II. 's  reign  "  ;  whose  dog  was  chiefly  endeared 
to  him  because  he  had  once  "  like  to  have  worried  a  Dissent 
ing  teacher" ;  and  who  "had  no  other  notion  of  religion  but 
that  it  consisted  in  hating  Presbyterians" — does  not  ade 
quately  represent  him.  Such  men  could  not  well  flourish  in 
any  other  age  than  that  of  Charles  II. ;  happily,  the  race, 
even  then  not  numerous,  could  not  propagate  itself.  Only  in 
such  a  period  of  unblushing  profligacy,  —  of  public  corrup 
tion  unexampled  in  the  history  of  England, — could  we  ex 
pect  to  find  a  Bishop  Parker,  and  his  patron  and  parallel, 
Archbishop  Sheldon.  Such  men  managed  to  combine  the 
most  hideous  bigotry  with  an  absence  of  all  religious  earnest 
ness,  —  a  zeal  worthy  of  a  "  Pharisee "  with  a  character 


ANDREW    MARVELL.  61 

which  would  have  disgraced  a  "  publican."  Apparently  as 
much  attached  to  the  veriest  minutia?  of  high-church  ortho 
doxy  as  the  sincerest  disciples  of  the  present  Oxford  school, 
they  yet  gave  reason  to  their  very  friends  to  doubt  whether 
they  did  not  secretly  despise  even  the  cardinal  doctrines  of 
Christianity.*  Equivocal  Christians  in  creed,  and  absolute 
infidels  in  practice,  they  yet  insisted  on  the  most  scrupulous 
compliance  with  the  most  trivial  points  of  ceremonial  ;  and 
persisted  in  persecuting  thousands  of  devout  and  honest  men 
because  they  hesitated  to  obey.  Things  which  they  admitted 
to  be  indifferent,  and  which,  without  violation  of  conscience, 
they  might  have  forborne  to  enforce,  they  remorselessly 
urged  on  those  who  solemnly  declared  that  without  such  a 
violation  they  could  not  comply.  More  tolerant  of  acknowl 
edged  vice  than  of  supposed  error,  they  deemed  drunkenness 
and  debauchery  venial,  compared  with  doubts  about  the  pro 
priety  of  making  the  sign  of  the  cross  in  baptism,  or  using 
the  ring  in  marriage  ;  it  would  have  been  better  for  a  man  to 
break  half  the  commands  in  the  decalogue,  than  admit  a  doubt 
of  the  most  frivolous  of  their  cherished  rites.  Equally  trucu 
lent  and  servile,  they  displayed  to  all  above  them  a  meanness 
proportioned  to  the  insolence  they  evinced  to  all  below  them. 
While  preferring,  on  behalf  of  the  Church,  the  most  extrava 
gant  pretensions,  they  were  far  from  participating  in  any 
jealousy  of  the  state,  which  they  were  ready  to  arm  with 
the  most  despotic  authority.  They  formally  invested  the 

*  Of  Sheldon,  Bishop  Burnet  says,  that  "  he  seems  not  to  have  had 
'  any  clear  sense  of  religion,  if  any  at  all."  Of  Parker,  he  speaks  yet 
more  strongly.  But,  perhaps,  the  most  striking  testimony  is  that  of  the 
Jesuit  father,  Edward  Petre,  cited  by  Mr.  Dove.  He  says  :  "  The  Bishop 
of  Oxford  has  not  yet  declared  himself  openly  :  the  great  obstacle  is  his 
wife,  whom  he  cannot  rid  himself  of:  though  I  do  not  see  how  he  can 
be  further  useful  to  us  in  the  religion  he  is  in,  because  he  is  suspected, 

and  of  no  esteem  among  the  heretics  of  the  English  Church If  he 

had  believed  my  counsel,  which  was  to  temporize  for  some  longer  time,  he 
would  have  done  better."  Surely  this  Jesuit  and  his  pupil  were  well 
matched  for  honesty. 


62  ANDREW    MARVELL. 

monarch  with  absolute  power  over  the  consciences  of  his 
subjects ;  and,  with  a  practice  in  harmony  with  their  princi 
ples,  were  ready  at  any  moment  to  surrender  their  own,  — 
if  they  had  had  any.  As  far  as  appears,  they  would  have 
been  willing  to  embrace  the  faith  of  Mahometans  or  Hindoos 
at  the  bidding  of  his  Majesty ;  and  to  believe  and  disbelieve 
as  he  commanded  them.  Extravagant  as  all  this  may  seem, 
we  shall  shortly  see  it  gravely  propounded  by  Parker  himself. 
It  was  fit  that  those  who  were  willing  to  offer  such  vile  adu 
lation  should  be  suffered  to  present  it  to  such  an  object  as 
Charles  II.,  —  that  so  grotesque  an  idolatry  should  have  as 
grotesque  an  idol.  The  god  was,  indeed,  every  way  worthy 
of  the  worshippers.  In  a  word,  these  men  seemed  to  recon 
cile  the  most  opposite  vices  and  the  widest  contrarieties : 
bigotry  and  laxity,  —  pride  and  meanness,  —  religious  scru 
pulosity  and  mocking  scepticism,  —  a  persecuting  zeal  against 
conscience  and  an  indulgent  latitudinarianism  towards  vice, — 
the  truculence  of  tyrants,  and  the  sycophancy  of  parasites. 

Happily,  the  state  of  things  which  generated  such  men  has 
long  since  passed  away.  But  examples  of  this  sort  of  high- 
churchmanship  were  not  infrequent  in  the  age  of  Charles  II. ; 
and  perhaps  Bishop  Parker  may  be  considered  the  most  per 
fect  specimen  of  them.  His  father  was  one  of  Oliver  Crom 
well's  most  obsequious  committee-men  ;  the  son,  who  was 
born  in  1640,  was  brought  up  in  the  principles  of  the  Puri 
tans,  and  was  sent  to  Oxford  in  1659.  He  was  just  twenty 
at  the  Restoration,  find  immediately  commenced  and  soon 
completed  his  transformation  into  one  of  the  most  arrogant 
and  timeserving  of  high-churchmen. 

Some  few  propositions,  for  which  he  came  earnestly  to 
contend  as  "  for  the  faith  once  delivered  to  the  saints,"  may 
give  an  idea  of  the  principles  and  the  temper  of  this  singular 
successor  of  the  Apostles.  He  affirms,  "  That  unless  prin 
ces  have  power  to  bind  their  subjects  to  that  religion  they  ap 
prehend  most  advantageous  to  public  peace  and  tranquillity, 
and  restrain  those  religious  mistakes  that  tend  to  its  subver- 


ANDREW    MARVELL.  63 

sion,  they  are  no  better  than  statues  and  images  of  authority  : 
—  That  in  cases  and  disputes  of  public  concernment,  private 
men  are  not  properly  sui  juris ;  they  have  no  power  over 
their  own  actions ;  they  are  not  to  be  directed  by  their  own 
judgments,  or  determined  by  their  own  wills,  but  by  the  com 
mands  and  the  determinations  of  the  public  conscience ;  and 
that  if  there  be  any  sin  in  the  command,  he  that  imposed  it 
shall  answer  for  it,  and  not  I,  whose  whole  duty  it  is  to  obey. 
The  commands  of  authority  will  warrant  my  obedience ;  my 
obedience  will  hallow,  or  at  least  excuse,  my  action,  and  so 
secure  me  from  sin,  if  not  from  error ;  and  in  all  doubtful 
and  disputable  cases  't  is  better  to  err  with  authority,  than  to 
be  in  the  right  against  it :  —  That  it  is  absolutely  necessary 
to  the  peace  and  happiness  of  kingdoms,  that  there  be  set  up 
a  more  severe  government  over  men's  consciences  and  re 
ligious  persuasions  than  over  their  vices  and  immoralities  ; 
and  that  princes  may  with  less  hazard  give  liberty  to  men's 
vices  and  debaucheries  than  their  consciences."  * 

He  must  have  a  very  narrow  mind  or  uncharitable  heart, 
who  cannot  give  poor  human  nature  credit  for  the  sincere 
adoption  of  the  most  opposite  opinions.  Still  there  are  limits 
to  this  exercise  of  charity  ;  there  may  be  such  a  concurrence 
of  suspicious  symptoms,  that  our  charity  can  be  exercised 
only  at  the  expense  of  our  common  sense.  We  can  easily 
conceive,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  of  Dissenters  be 
coming  Churchmen,  and  Churchmen  becoming  Dissenters  ; 
Tories  and  Whigs  changing  sides ;  Protestants  and  Roman 
ists,  like  those  two  brothers  mentioned  in  Locke's  second 
"  Letter  on  Toleration,"  t  so  expert  in  logic  as  to  convert 
one  another,  and  then,  unhappily,  not  expert  enough  to  con 
vert  one  another  back  again,  —  and  all  without  any  suspicion 
of  insincerity.  But  when  great  revolutions  of  opinion  are 
also  very  sudden,  and  exquisitely  well-timed  in  relation  to 


*  The  Rehearsal  Transprosed,  Vol.  I.  pp.  97,  98,  99,  100,  101. 
t  Locke's  Works,  Vol.  V.  p.  79. 


64  ANDREW   MARVELL. 

private  interest;  when  these  changes,  let  them  be  what 
they  may,  are  always  like  those  of  the  heliotrope,  towards 
the  sun;  when  a  man  is  utterly  uncharitable  even  to  his 
own  previous  errors,  and  foully  maligns  and  abuses  all  who 
still  retain  them,  —  it  is  impossible  to  doubt  the  motives  which 
have  animated  him.  On  this  subject  Marvell  himself  well 
observes  :  "  Though  a  man  be  obliged  to  change  a  hundred 
times  backward  and  forward,  if  his  judgment  be  so  weak  and 
variable,  yet  there  are  some  drudgeries  that  no  man  of  honor 
would  put  himself  upon,  and  but  few  submit  to  it  if  they  were 
imposed ;  as,  —  suppose  one  had  thought  fit  to  pass  over 
from  one  persuasion  of  the  Christian  religion  into  another,  he 
would  not  choose  to  spit  thrice  at  every  article  that  he  relin 
quished,  to  curse  solemnly  his  father  and  mother  for  having 
edacated  him  in  those  opinions,  to  animate  his  new  acquaint 
ances  to  the  massacring  of  his  former  comrades.  These  are 
businesses  that  can  only  be  expected  from  a  renegade  of 
Algiers  and  Tunis ;  —  to  overdo  in  expiation,  and  gain  better 
credence  of  being  a  sincere  Mussulman."  * 

Marvell  gives  an  amusing  account  of  the  progress  of  Par 
ker's  conversion,  —  of  the  transformation  by  which  the  mag 
got  became  a  carrion-fly.  In  the  second  part  of  the  "  Re 
hearsal,"  after  a  humorous  description  of  his  parentage  and 
youth,  he  tells  us  that  at  the  Restoration  "  he  came  to  Lon 
don,  where  he  spent  a  considerable  time  in  creeping  into  all 
corners  and  companies,  horoscoping  up  and  down "  ("  as- 
trologizing  "  as  he  elsewhere  expresses  it)  "  concerning  the 
duration  of  the  government;  —  not  considering  any  thing  as 
best  but  as  most  lasting  and  most  profitable :  and  after  hav 
ing  many  times  cast  a  figure,  he  at  last  satisfied  himself  that 
the  Episcopal  government  would  endure  as  long  as  this  King 
lived,  and  from  thenceforward  cast  about  how  to  be  admitted 
into  the  Church  of  England,  and  find  the  highway  to  her 
preferments.  In  order  to  do  this,  he  daily  enlarged,  not  only 

*  Kehearsal  Transprosed,  Vol.  I.  pp.  91, 92. 


ANDREW    MARVELL.  65 

his  conversation,  but  his  conscience,  and  was  made  free  of 
some  of  the  town  vices  ;  imagining,  like  Muleasses,  King  of 
Tunis,  (for  I  take  witness  that  on  all  occasions  I  treat  him 
rather  above  his  quality  than  otherwise,)  that,  by  hiding  him 
self  among  the  onions,  he  should  escape  being  traced  by  his 
perfumes."  *  Marvell  sketches  the  early  history  and  char 
acter  of  Parker  in  both  parts  of  the  "  Rehearsal,"  —  though, 
as  might  be  expected,  with  greater  severity  in  the  second 
than  in  the  first.  A  few  sentences  may  not  displease  the 
reader.  He  says  :  — 

"  This  gentleman,  as  I  have  heard,  after  he  had  read  Don  Quix 
ote  and  the  Bible,  besides  such  school-books  as  were  necessary  for 
his  age,  was  sent  early  to  the  university ;  and  there  studied  hard, 
and  in  a  short  time  became  a  competent  rhetorician,  and  no  ill  dis 
putant.  He  had  learned  how  to  erect  a  thesis,  and  to  defend  it  pro 
and  con  with  a  serviceable  distinction And  so,  thinking  him 
self  now  ripe  and  qualified  for  the  greatest  undertakings  and  highest 
fortune,  he  therefore  exchanged  the  narrowness  of  the  university 
for  the  town  ;  but  coming  out  of  the  confinement  of  the  square  cap 
and  the  quadrangle  into  the  open  air,  the  world  began  to  turn  round 
with  him,  which  he  imagined,  though  it  were  his  own  giddiness,  to 
be  nothing  less  than  the  quadrature  of  the  circle.  This  accident 
concurring  so  happily  to  increase  the  good  opinion  which  he  natu 
rally  had  of  himself,  he  thenceforward  applied  to  gain  a  like  repu 
tation  with  others.  He  followed  the  town  life,  haunted  the  best 
companies ;  and  to  polish  himself  from  any  pedantic  roughness,  he 
read  and  saw  the  plays  with  much  care,  and  more  proficiency  than 
most  of  the  auditory.  But  all  this  while  he  forgot  not  the  main 
chance ;  but  hearing  of  a  vacancy  with  a  nobleman,  he  clapped  in, 
and  easily  obtained  to  be  his  chaplain  :  from  that  day  you  may  take 
the  date  of  his  preferments  and  his  ruin  ;  for  having  soon  wrought 
himself  dexterously  into  his  patron's  favor,  by  short  graces  and  ser 
mons,  and  a  mimical  way  of  drolling  upon  the  Puritans,  which  he 
knew  would  take  both  at  chapel  and  at  table,  he  gained  a  great  au 
thority  likewise  among  all  the  domestics.  They  all  listened  to  him 
as  an  oracle;  and  they  allowed  him,  by  common  consent,  to  have 
not  only  all  the  divinity,  but  more  wit,  too,  than  all  the  rest  of  the 

*  Kehearsal  Transprosed,  Vol.  II.  pp.  77,  78. 


66  ANDREW   MARVELL. 

family  put  together Nothing  now  must  serve  him,  but  he 

must  be  a  madman  in  print,  and  write  a  book  of  Ecclesiastical  Pol 
ity.  There  he  distributes  all  the  territories  of  conscience  into  the 
prince's  province,  and  makes  the  hierarchy  to  be  but  bishops  of  the 
air ;  and  talks  at  such  an  extravagant  rate  in  things  of  higher  con 
cernment,  that  the  reader  will  avow  that  in  the  whole  discourse  he 
had  not  one  lucid  interval."* 

The  work  here  mentioned,  the  "  Ecclesiastical  Polity," 
was  published  in  the  year  1670.  But  the  book  which  called 
forth  Marvell  was  a  Preface  to  a  posthumous  work  of  Arch 
bishop  BramhalPs,  which  appeared  in  1672.  In  this  piece 
Parker  had  displayed  his  usual  zeal  against  the  nonconform 
ists,  with  more  than  usual  acrimony,  and  pushed  to  the  utter 
most  extravagance  his  favorite  maxims  of  ecclesiastical  tyr 
anny.  Like  his  previous  works  on  similar  matters,  it  was 
anonymous,  though  the  author  was  pretty  well  known.  Mar- 
veil  dubs  him  "  Mr.  Bayes,"  under  which  name  the  Duke  of 
Buckingham  had  ridiculed  Dryden  in  the  well-known  play  of 
"  The  Rehearsal  "  ;  from  the  title  of  which  Marvell  designated 
his  book,  "  The  Rehearsal  Transprosed."  The  latter  word 
was  suggested  by  the  scene  in  which  Mr.  Bayes  gives  an  ac 
count  of  the  manner  in  which  he  manufactured  his  plays : 
"Bayes.  — Why,  sir,  my  first  rule  is  the  rule  of  transver- 
sion,  or  regula  duplex,  —  changing  verse  into  prose,  or  prose 
into  verse,  alternative,  as  you  please.  Smith. — Well, 
but  how  is  this  done  by  rule,  sir  ?  Bayes.  —  Why  thus, 
sir  ;  nothing  so  easy  when  understood.  I  take  a  book  in  my 
hand,  either  at  home  or  elsewhere,  for  that 's  all  one  :  if  there 
be  any  wit  in  't,  as  there  is  no  book  but  has  some,  I  trans 
verse  it ;  that  is,  if  it  be  prose  put  it  into  verse,  (but  that 
takes  up  some  time,)  and  if  it  be  verse  put  it  into  prose. 
Johnson.  —  Methinks,  Mr.  Bayes,  that  putting  verse  into 
prose  should  be  called  transprosing.  Bayes.  —  By  my 
troth,  sir,  it  is  a  very  good  notion,  and  hereafter  it  shall 
be  so." 


*  Rehearsal  Transprosed,  Vol.  I.  pp.  62  -  69. 


ANDREW    MARVELL.  67 

The  success  of  the  "  Rehearsal  *'  was  instant  and  signal. 
"  After  Parker  had  for  some  years  entertained  the  nation 
with  several  virulent  books,"  says  Burnet,  "  he  was  attacked 
by  the  liveliest  droll  of  the  age,  who  wrote  in  a  burlesque 
strain,  but  with  so  peculiar  and  entertaining  a  conduct,  that, 
from  the  King  down  to  the  tradesman,  his  books  were  read 
with  great  pleasure :  that  not  only  humbled  Parker,  but  the 
whole  party  ;  for  the  author  of  the  c  Rehearsal  Transprosed ' 
had  all  the  men  of  wit  (or,  as  the  French  phrase  it,  all  the 
laughers]  on  his  side." 

In  fact,  Marvell  exhibited  his  adversary  in  so  ridiculous  a 
light,  that  even  his  own  party  could  not  keep  their  counte 
nances.  The  unhappy  churchman  resembled  Gulliver  at  the 
court  of  Brobdignag,  when  the  mischievous  page  stuck  him 
into  the  marrow-bone.  He  cut  such  a  ridiculous  figure,  that, 
says  the  author  just  cited,  even  the  King  and  his  courtiers 
could  not  help  laughing  at  him. 

The  first  part  of  the  "  Rehearsal "  elicited  several  answers. 
They  were  written  for  the  most  part  in  very  unsuccessful 
imitation  of  Marvell's  style  of  banter,  and  are  now  wholly 
forgotten.  Marvell  gives  an  amusing  account  of  the  efforts 
which  were  made  to  obtain  effective  replies,  and  of  the  hopes 
of  preferment  which  may  be  supposed  to  have  inspired  their 
authors.  Parker  himself  for  some  time  declined  any  reply. 
At  last  came  out  his  "  Reproof  to  the  Rehearsal  Transprosed," 
in  which  he  urged  the  government  "  to  crush  the  pestilent 
wit,  the  servant  of  Cromwell,  and  the  friend  of  Milton."  To 
this  work,  Marvell  replied  in  the  second  part  of  the  "Re 
hearsal."  He  was  further  spirited  to  it  by  an  anonymous 
letter,  pleasant  and  laconic  enough,  left  for  him  at  a  friend's 
house,  signed  "  T.  G.,"  and  concluding  with  the  words  : 
44  If  thou  darest  to  print  any  lie  or  libel  against  Dr.  Parker, 
by  the  eternal  God,  I  will  cut  thy  throat !  "  He  who  wrote 
it,  whoever  he  was,  was  ignorant  of  Marvell's  nature,  if  he 
thought  thereby  to  intimidate  him  into  silence.  His  intrepid 
spirit  was  simply  provoked  by  this  insolent  threat,  which  he 


DO  ANDREW    MARVELL. 

took  car?,  to  publish  in  the  title-page  of  his  Reply.  To  this 
publ  cation  Parker  attempted  no  rejoinder.  Anthony  Wood 
himself  tells  us,  that  Parker  "  judged  it  more  prudent  to  lay 
down  the  cudgels,  than  to  enter  the  lists  again  with  an  un- 
towardly  combatant,  so  hugely  well  versed  and  experienced 
in  the  then  but  newly  refined  art,  though  much  in  the  mode 
and  fashion  ever  since,  of  sporting  and  jeering  buffoonery.  It 
was  generally  thought,  however,  by  many  of  those  who  were 
otherwise  favorers  of  Parker's  cause,  that  the  victory  lay  on 
Marvell's  side,  and  it  wrought  this  good  effect  on  Parker,  that 
for  ever  after  it  took  down  his  great  spirit  "  :  and  Burnet  tells 
us,  that  he  "  withdrew  from  the  town,  and  ceased  writing  for 
some  years." 

Of  this,  the  principal  work  of  Marvell's  singular  genius, 
it  is  difficult,  even  were  there  space  for  it,  to  present  the 
reader  with  any  considerable  extracts.  The  allusions  are 
often  so  obscure,  —  the  wit  of  one  page  is  so  dependent  on 
that  of  another,  —  the  humor  and  pleasantry  are  so  continu 
ous,  —  and  the  character  of  the  work,  from  its  very  nature, 
is  so  excursive,  that  its  merits  can  be  appreciated  only  on  a 
regular  perusal.  There  are  other  reasons,  too,  which  render 
lengthened  citations  scarcely  practicable.  The  composition 
has  faults  which  would  inevitably  disgust  the  generality  of 
modern  readers,  or  rather  deter  them  altogether  from  giving 
any  long  extracts  a  continuous  perusal.  The  work  is  also 
characterized  by  not  a  little  of  the  coarseness  which  was  so 
prevalent  in  that  age,  and  from  which  Marvell  was  by  no 
means  free  ;  though,  as  we  shall  endeavor  hereafter  to  show, 
his  spirit  was  far  from  partaking  of  the  malevolence  of  ordi 
nary  satirists.  Some  few  instances  of  felicitous  repartee  or 
ludicrous  imagery,  which  we  have  noted  in  a  reperusal  of  the 
work,  will  be  found  further  on. 

Yet  the  reader  must  not  infer  that  the  sole,  or  even  the 
chief,  merit  of  the  "  Rehearsal  Transprosed  "  consists  in  wit 
and  banter.  Not  only  is  there,  amidst  all  its  ludicrous  levities, 
"  a  vehemence  of  solemn  reproof,  and  an  eloquence  of  invec- 


ANDREW   MARVELL.  69 

tive,  that  awes  one  with  the  spirit  of  the  modern  Junius  "  ;  * 
but  there  are  many  passages  of  very  powerful  reasoning,  in 
advocacy  of  truths  which  were  then  but  ill  understood,  and 
of  rights  which  had  been  shamefully  violated. 

Perhaps  the  most  interesting  passages  of  the  work  are 
those  in  which  Marvell  refers  to  his  great  friend,  John  Milton. 
Parker,  with  his  customary  malignity,  had  insinuated  that 
the  poet,  who  was  then  living  in  cautious  retirement,  might 
have  been  the  author  of  the  "  Rehearsal,"  —  apparently  with 
the  view  of  turning  the  indignation  of  government  upon  the 
illustrious  recluse.  Marvell  had  always  entertained  towards 
Milton  a  feeling  of  reverence  akin  to  idolatry,  and  this 
stroke  of  deliberate  malice  was  more  than  he  could  bear. 
He  generously  hastened  to  throw  his  shield  over  his  aged  and 
prostrate  patron. 

About  three  years  after  the  publication  of  the  second  part 
of  the  "  Rehearsal,"  Marvell's  chivalrous  love  of  justice  im 
pelled  him  again  to  draw  the  sword.  In  1675,  Dr.  Croft, 
Bishop  of  Hereford,  had  published  a  work  entitled,  "  The 
Naked  Truth,  or  the  True  State  of  the  Primitive  Church,  by 
a  Humble  Moderator."  This  work  deserved  the  character 
of  that  sermon  which  Corporal  Trim  shook  out  of  the  vol 
ume  of  Stevinus.  "  If  you  have  no  objections,"  said  Mr. 
Shandy  to  Dr.  Slop,  "  Trim  shall  read  it."  "  Not  in  the 
least,"  replied  Dr.  Slop,  "  for  it  does  not  appear  on  which 
side  of  the  question  it  is  wrote ;  it  may  be  a  composition  of 
a  divine  of  our  church,  as  well  as  of  yours,  so  that  we  run 
equal  risks."  "  'T  is  wrote  upon  neither  side,"  quoth  Trim, 
"  for  it  is  only  upon  conscience,  an'  it  please  your  honors." 
Even  so  was  it  with  the  good  bishop's  little  piece.  It  was 
written  on  neither  side.  It  enjoined  on  all  religious  parties 
the  unwelcome  duties  of  forbearance  and  charity ;  but  as  it 
especially  exposed  the  danger  and  folly  of  enforcing  a  mi 
nute  uniformity,  it  could  not  be  suffered  to  pass  unchallenged 

*  D'Israeli. 


70  ANDREW    MARVELL. 

in  that  age  of  high-church  intolerance.  It  was  petulantly  at 
tacked  by  Dr.  Francis  Turner,  Master  of  St.  John's  College, 
Cambridge,  in  a  pamphlet  entitled,  "  Animadversions  on  the 
Naked  Truth."  This  provoked  our  satirist,  who  replied  in 
a  pamphlet  entitled,  "  Mr.  Smirke,  or  the  Divine  in  Mode." 
He  here  fits  his  antagonist  with  a  character  out  of  Etherege's 
"  Man  of  Mode,"  —  as  he  had  before  fitted  Parker  with  one 
from  Buckingham's  "  Rehearsal."  The  merits  and  defects 
of  this  pamphlet  are  of  much  the  same  order  as  those  of  his 
former  work,  —  it  is  perhaps  less  disfigured  by  coarseness 
and  vehemence.  Of  Dr.  Croft's  pamphlet  he  beautifully 
expresses  a  feeling,  of  which  we  imagine  few  can  have  been 
unconscious  when  perusing  any  work  which  strongly  appeals 
to  our  reason  and  conscience,  and  in  which,  as  we  proceed, 
we  seem  to  recognize  what  we  have  often  thought,  but  never 
uttered.  "  It  is  a  book  of  that  kind,  that  no  Christian  can 
peruse  it  without  wishing  himself  to  have  been  the  author, 
and  almost  imagining  that  he  is  so  ;  the  conceptions  therein 
being  of  so  eternal  an  idea,  that  every  man  finds  it  to  be  but 
a  copy  of  the  original  in  his  own  mind." 

To  this  brochure  was  attached  "  A  Short  Historical  Essay 
concerning  General  Councils,  Creeds,  and  Impositions  in 
Matters  of  Religion."  It  is  characterized  by  the  same 
strong  sense  and  untiring  vivacity  as  his  other  writings,  and 
evinces  a  creditable  acquaintance  with  ecclesiastical  history ; 
but  it  is  neither  copious  nor  profound  enough  for  the  subject. 

In  1677,  Marvell  published  his  last  controversial  piece, 
elicited  like  the  rest  by  his  disinterested  love  of  fair  play. 
It  was  a  defence  of  the  celebrated  divine,  John  Howe, 
whose  conciliatory  tract  on  the  "Divine  Prescience"  had 
been  rudely  assailed  by  three  several  antagonists.  This  little 
volume,  which  is  throughout  in  Marvell's  vein,  is  now  ex 
tremely  scarce.  It  is  not  included  in  any  edition  of  his  works, 
and  appears  to  have  been  unknown  to  all  his  biographers. 

His  last  work  of  any  extent  was  entitled,  "  An  Account  of 
the  Growth  of  Popery  and  Arbitrary  Government  in  Eng- 


ANDREW    MARVELL. 


71 


land."  It  first  appeared  in  1678.  It  is  written  with  much 
vigor,  —  boldly  vindicates  the  great  principles  of  the  consti 
tution,  —  and  discusses  the  limits  of  the  royal  prerogative. 
The  gloomy  anticipations  expressed  by  the  author  were  but 
too  well  justified  by  the  public  events  which  transpired  subse 
quently  to  his  death.  But  the  worst  consequences  of  the 
principles  and  policy  he  denounced,  were  happily  averted  by 
the  Revolution  of  1688. 

A  reward  was  offered  by  the  government  for  the  discov 
ery  of  the  author  of  this  "  libel,"  as  it  was  pleasantly  des 
ignated.  Marvell  seems  to  have  taken  the  matter  very  cool 
ly,  and  thus  humorously  alludes  to  the  subject,  in  a  private 
letter  to  Mr.  Ramsden,  dated  June  10,  1678 :  "  There  came 
out  about  Christmas  last,  here,  a  large  book  concerning  the 
growth  of  Popery  and  arbitrary  government.  There  have 
been  great  rewards  offered  in  private,  and  considerable  in  the 
Gazette,  to  any  one  who  could  inform  of  the  author  or  print 
er,  but  not  yet  discovered.  Three  or  four  printed  books 
since  have  described,  as  near  as  it  was  proper  to  go  (the 
man  being  a  member  of  Parliament),  Mr.  Marvell  to  have 
been  the  author ;  but  if  he  had,  surely  he  should  not  have 
escaped  being  questioned  in  Parliament,  or  some  other  place." 

Marvell  published,  during  the  latter  years  of  his  life,  sev 
eral  other  political  pamphlets,  which,  though  now  forgotten, 
were  doubtless  'not  without  their  influence  in  unmasking  cor 
ruption,  and  rousing  the  nation  to  a  consciousness  of  its  po 
litical  degradation.  One  jeu  d'esprit,  —  a  parody  on  the 
speeches  of  Charles  II.,  —  in  which  the  flippancy  and  easy 
impudence  of  those  singular  specimens  of  royal  eloquence 
are  happily  mimicked  and  scarcely  caricatured,  is  very 
characteristic  of  his  caustic  humor.  A  few  sentences  may 
not  displease  the  reader. 

"  I  told  you  at  our  last  meeting,  the  winter  was  the  fittest  time 
for  business,  and  truly  I  thought  so,  till  my  lord-treasurer  assured 

me  the  spring  was  the  best  season  for  salads  and  subsidies 

Some  of  you,  perhaps,  will  think  it  dangerous  to  make  me  too  rich  ; 


72  ANDREW   MARVELL. 

but  I  do  not  fear  it,  for  I  promise  you  faithfully,  whatever  you  give 
me,  I  will  always  want ;  and,  although  in  other  things  my  word 
may  be  thought  a  slender  authority,  yet  in  that  you  may  rely  on 

me,  I  will  never  break    it I   can  bear  my  straits  with 

patience  ;  but  my  lord-treasurer  does  protest  to  me  that  the  revenue, 
as  it  now  stands,  will  not  serve  him  and  me  too.  One  of  us  must 

pinch  for  it,  if  you  do  not  help  me What  shall  we  do  for 

ships  then?  I  hint  this  only  to  you,  it  being  your  business,  not 
mine.  I  know  by  experience  I  can  live  without  ships.  I  lived  ten 
years  abroad  without,  and  never  had  rny  health  better  in  my  life ;  but 
how  you  will  be  without,  I  will  leave  to  yourselves  to  judge,  and 
therefore  hint  this  only  by  the  by.  I  don't  insist  upon  it.  There  is 
another  thing  I  must  press  more  earnestly,  and  that  is  this :  it  seems 
a  good  part  of  my  revenue  will  expire  in  two  or  three  years,  ex 
cept  you  will  be  pleased  to  continue  it.  I  have  to  say  for  it,  —  Pray, 
why  did  you  give  me  so  much  as  you  have  done,  unless  you  resolve 
to  give  on  as  fast  as  I  call  for  it?  The  nation  hates  you  already  for 
giving  so  much,  and  I  will  hate  you  too  if  you  do  not  give  me  more. 
So  that,  if  you  do  not  stick  to  me  you  will  not  have  a  friend  in 

England Therefore   look   to  it,  and  take  notice,  that  if 

you  do  not  make  me  rich  enough  to  undo  you,  it  shall  lie  at  your 
door.  For  my  part  I  wash  my  hands  on  it I  have  con 
verted  my  natural  sons  from  Popery 3T  would  do  one's 

heart  good  to  hear  how  prettily  George  can  read  already  in  the 
psalter.  They  are  all  fine  children,  God  bless  'em,  and  so  like  me 
in  their  understandings !  But,  as  I  was  saying,  I  have,  to  please 
you,  given  a  pension  to  your  favorite,  my  Lord  Lauderdale,  not  so 
much  that  I  thought  he  wanted  it,  as  that  you  would  take  it  kindly. 

I  know  not,  for  my  part,  what  factious  men  would  have  ; 

but  this  I  am  sure  of,  my  predecessors  never  did  any  thing  like  this 
to  gain  the  good-will  of  their  subjects.  So  much  for  your  religion, 

and  now  for  your  property I  must  now  acquaint  you, 

that,  by  my  lord-treasurer's  advice,  I  have  made  a  considerable  re 
trenchment  upon  my  expenses  in  candles  and  charcoal,  and  do  not 
intend  to  stop  ;  but  will,  with  your  help,  look  into  the  late  embez 
zlements  of  my  dripping-pans  and  kitchen-stuff,  of  which,  by  the 
way,  upon  my  conscience,  neither  my  lord-treasurer  nor  my  Lord 
Lauderdale  are  guilty."* 

*  Marvell's  Works,  Vol.  I.  pp.  428,  429. 


ANDREW    MARVELL.  73 

Marvell's  intrepid  patriotism  and  bold  writings  had  now 
made  him  so  odious  to  the  corrupt  Court,  and  especially  to 
the  bigoted  James,  that  he  was  compelled  frequently  to  con 
ceal  himself,  for  fear  of  assassination.  He  makes  an  affect 
ing  allusion  to  this  in  one  of  his  private  letters.  "  Magis 
occidere,"  says  he,  "  metuo  quam  occidi  ;  non  quod  vitam 
tanti  astimem,  sed  ne  imparatus  moriar."  * 

He  died  August  16,  1678,  the  year  that  his  obnoxious  work 
on  the  Growth  of  Popery  and  Arbitrary  Government  ap 
peared  ;  and,  as  he  was  in  vigorous  health  just  before,  sus 
picions  were  entertained  that  he  had  been  poisoned. 

In  person,  according  to  the  description  of  Aubrey,  who 
knew  him  well,  Marvel  1  "  was  of  a  middling  stature, 
pretty  strong  set,  roundish-faced,  cherry-cheeked,  hazel- 
eyed,  brown-haired.  In  his  conversation  he  was  modest,  and 
of  very  few  words.  He  was  wont  to  say  he  would  not  drink 
high  or  freely  with  any  one  with  whom  he  could  not  trust  his 
life."  Captain  Thompson  gives  a  somewhat  different  account 
of  his  complexion  and  the  color  of  his  eyes ;  but,  as  is  often 
the  case  in  more  important  points,  he  does  not  mention  his 
authority.  It  seems  probable  that  he  has  been  giving  us  a 
description  from  the  impression  conveyed  by  his  portraits 
(of  which  there  are  two),  without  allowing  for  the  effects  of 
time ;  so  that  we  have  but  the  picture  of  a  picture. 

Of  the  editions  of  MarvelPs  collected  works,  that  of  1726, 
in  two  volumes  duodecimo,  contains  only  his  poems  and  some 
of  his  private  letters.  That  of  Captain  Thompson,  in  three 
volumes  quarto,  was  published  in  1776.  Yet  even  this,  as 
already  said,  omits  one  treatise.  The  Captain's  diligence  is 
indeed  worthy  of  commendation,  and  his  enthusiasm  may  be 
pardoned.  But  he  was  far  from  being  a  correct  or  judicious 
editor,  and  is  often  betrayed  by  his  indiscriminate  admiration 
into  excessive  and  preposterous  eulogy.  The  only  separate 
biography  is,  we  believe,  the  little  volume  mentioned  at  the 
head  of  this  article. 

*  Cooke's  Life  of  Marvell,  prefixed  to  his  Poems,  p.  14. 

7 


74  ANDREW   MARVELL. 

The  characteristic  attribute  of  MarvelPs  genius  was  un 
questionably  wit,  in  all  the  varieties  of  which  —  brief,  sen 
tentious  sarcasm,  fierce  invective,  light  raillery,  grave  irony, 
and  broad,  laughing  humor  —  he  seems  to  have  been  by  na 
ture  almost  equally  fitted  to  excel.  To  say  that  he  has  equal 
ly  excelled  in  all  would  be  untrue,  though  striking  examples 
of  each  might  easily  be  selected  from  his  writings.  The  ac 
tivity  with  which  his  mind  suggests  ludicrous  images  and 
analogies  is  astonishing ;  he  often  positively  startles  us  by  the 
remoteness  and  oddity  of  the  sources  from  which  they  are 
supplied,  and  by  the  unexpected  ingenuity  and  felicity  of  his 
repartees. 

His  forte,  however,  appears  to  be  a  grave,  ironical  banter, 
which  he  often  pursues  at  such  a  length  that  there  seems  no 
limit  to  his  fertility  of  invention.  In  his  accumulation  of 
ludicrous  images  and  allusions, — the  untiring,  exhaustive 
ridicule  with  which  he  will  play  upon  the  same  topics,  —  he 
is  unique  ;  yet  this  peculiarity  not  seldom  leads  him  to  drain 
the  generous  wine  even  to  the  dregs  ;  to  spoil  a  series  of 
felicitous  railleries  by  some  far-fetched  conceit  or  unpardon 
able  extravagance. 

But  though  Marvell  was  so  great  a  master  of  wit,  and  es 
pecially  of  that  caustic  species  which  is  appropriate  to  satir 
ists,  he  seems  to  have  been  singularly  free  from  many  of  the 
faults  which  distinguish  that  irritable  brotherhood.  Unspar 
ing  and  merciless  as  his  ridicule  is,  contemptuous  and  ludi 
crous  as  are  the  lights  in  which  he1  exhibits  his  opponent ; 
nay,  further,  though  his  invectives  are  not  only  often  terribly 
severe,  but  (in  compliance  with  the  spirit  of  the  age)  often 
grossly  coarse  and  personal,  it  is  still  impossible  to  detect  a 
single  particle  of  malignity.  His  general  tone  is  either  that 
of  broad,  mirthful  banter,  or  of  the  most  cutting  invective  ; 
but  he  appears  equally  devoid  of  malevolence  in  both.  In 
the  one,  he  seems  amusing  himself  with  opponents,  for  whom 
he  has  too  much  contempt  to  feel  anger ;  in  the  other,  to  act 
with  the  stern,  imperturbable  gravity  of  one  who  is  perform- 


ANDREW    MARVELL.  75 

ing  the  unpleasant  but  necessary  functions  of  a  public  execu 
tioner.  This  freedom  from  the  usual  faults  of  satirists  may 
be  traced  to  several  causes  ;  partly  to  the  lonliommie  which, 
with  all  his  talents  for  satire,  was  a  peculiar  characteristic  of 
the  man,  and  which  rendered  him  as  little  disposed  to  take 
offence,  and  as  placable  when  it  was  offered,  as  any  man  of 
his  time  ;  partly  to  the  integrity  of  his  nature,  which,  while 
it  prompted  him  to  champion  any  cause  in  which  justice  had 
been  outraged  or  innocence  wronged,  effectually  preserved 
him  from  the  wanton  exercise  of  his  wit  for  the  gratification 
of  malevolence  ;  partly,  perhaps  principally,  to  the  fact,  that 
both  the  above  qualities  restricted  him  to  encounters  in  which 
he  had  personally  no  concern.  If  he  carried  a  keen  sword, 
it  was  a  most  peaceable  and  gentlemanly  weapon  ;  it  never 
left  the  scabbard  except  on  the  highest  provocation,  and,  even 
then,  only  on  behalf  of  others.  His  magnanimity,  self-con 
trol,  and  good  temper  restrained  him  from  avenging  any  in 
sult  offered  to  himself;  — his  chivalrous  love  of  justice  instant 
ly  roused  all  the  lion  within  him  on  behalf  of  the  injured  and 
oppressed.  It  is  perhaps  well  for  Marveli's  fame  that  his 
quarrels  were  not  personal :  had  they  been  so,  it  is  hardly 
probable  that  such  powers  of  sarcasm  and  irony  should  have 
been  so  little  associated  with  bitterness  of  temper. 

Nor  let  it  be  said,  that  this  freedom  from  malignity  in  the 
exercise  of  his  wit  scarcely  deserves  much  praise  ;  for  though 
it  is  true,  that  there  is  no  necessary  connection  between  that 
quality  of  mind  and  the  malevolent  passions  (as  numberless 
illustrious  examples  sufficiently  prove),  yet  it  offers  great 
temptations  to  their  indulgence,  and  is  almost  always  com 
bined  with  that  constitutional  irritability  of  genius  which  it  so 
readily  gratifies,  and,  by  gratifying,  transforms  into  something 
worse.  Half  the  tendencies  of  our  nature  pass  into  habits 
only  from  the  facilities  which  encourage  their  development. 
Quarrels  were  infinitely  more  frequent  when  all  men  were 
accustomed  to  wear  arms  ;  and,  similarly,  many  a  waspish 
temper  has  become  so,  principally  from  being  in  possession 


76  ANDREW    MARVELL. 

of  the  weapon  of  satire.  Not  seldom,  too,  it  must  be  sorrow 
fully  admitted,  the  most  exquisite  sense  of  the  ridiculous  has 
been  strangely  combined  with  a  morbid,  saturnine  tempera 
ment,  which  looks  on  all  things  with  a  jaundiced  imagination, 
and  surveys  human  infirmities  and  foibles  with  feelings  not 
more  remote  from  those  of  compassionate  benevolence  than 
of  genuine  mirth.  Happy  when,  as  in  the  case  of  Cowper, 
the  influence  of  a  benign  heart  and  unfeigned  humility  pre 
vents  this  tendency  from  degenerating  into  universal  malevo 
lence.  There  are  few  things  more  shockingly  incongruous 
than  the  ghastly  union  of  wit  and  misanthropy.  Wit  should 
be  ever  of  open  brow,  joyous,  and  frank-hearted.  Even  the 
severest  satire  may  be  delicious  reading  when  penned  with 
the  bonhommie  of  Horace  or  of  Addison,  or  the  equanimity 
of  Plato  or  of  Pascal.  Without  pretending  that  Marvell  had 
aught  of  the  elegance  or  the  delicacy  of  any  of  these  immor 
tal  writers,  we  firmly  believe  he  had  as  much  kindly  feeling 
as  any  of  them.  Unhappily,  the  two  by  no  means  go  togeth 
er  ;  there  may  be  the  utmost  refinement  without  a  particle  of 
good-nature  ;  and  a  great  deal  of  good-nature  without  any 
refinement.  It  were  easy  to  name  writers,  who,  with  the 
most  exquisite  grace  of  diction,  can  as  little  disguise  the  mal 
ice  of  their  nature,  as  Marvell,  with  all  his  coarseness,  can 
make  us  doubt  his  benevolence.  Through  the  veil  of  their 
language  (of  beautiful  texture,  but  too  transparent)  we  see 
chagrin  poorly  stimulating  mirth  ;  anger  struggling  to  appear 
contempt,  and  failing  ;  malevolence  writhing  itself  into  an  as 
pect  of  ironical  courtesy,  but  with  grim  distortion  in  the  at 
tempt  ;  and  sarcasms  urged  by  the  impulses  which,  under 
different  circumstances,  and  in  another  country,  would  have 
prompted  to  the  use  of  the  stiletto. 

It  is  impossible,  indeed,  not  to  regret  the  coarseness,  often 
amounting  to  buffoonery,  of  Marvell's  wit ;  though,  from  the 
consideration  just  urged,  we  regard  it  with  the  more  forbear 
ance.  Other  palliations  have  been  pleaded  for  him,  derived 
from  the  character  of  his  adversaries,  the  haste  with  which  he 


ANDREW    MARVELL.  77 

wrote,  and  the  spirit  of  the  age.  The  last  is  the  strongest. 
The  tomahawk  and  the  scalping-knife  were  not  yet  discredit 
able  weapons,  or  thrown  aside  as  fit  only  for  savage  warfare  ; 
and  it  is  even  probable  that  many  of  the  things  which  we 
should  regard  as  gross  insults  then  passed  as  pardonable  jests. 
It  is  difficult  for  us,  of  course,  to  imagine  that  callousness 
which  scarcely  thinks  any  thing  an  insult  but  what  is  enforced 
by  the  argumentum  baculinum.  Between  the  feelings  of  our 
forefathers  and  our  own,  there  seems  to  have  been  as  great  a 
difference  as  between  those  of  the  farmer  and  the  clergyman, 
so  ludicrously  described  by  Covvper  in  his  "  Yearly  Dis 
tress  "  :  — 

"  0,  why  are  farmers  made  so  coarse, 

Or  clergy  made  so  fine  ? 
A  kick  that  scarce  would  move  a  horse 
May  kill  a  sound  divine." 

The  haste  with  which  Marvell  wrote  must  also  be  pleaded 
as  an  excuse  for  the  inequalities  of  his  works.  It  was  not  the 
age  in  which  authors  elaborated  and  polished  with  care,  or 
submitted  with  a  good  grace  to  the  Hmce  labor;  and  if  it  had 
been,  Marvell  allowed  himself  no  leisure  for  the  task.  The 
second  part  of  the  "  Rehearsal,"  for  example,  was  published 
in  the  same  year  in  which  Parker's  "  Reproof"  appeared. 
We  must  profess  our  belief  that  no  small  portion  of  his  writ 
ings  stand  in  great  need  of  this  apology.  Exhibiting,  as  they 
do,  amazing  vigor  and  fertility,  the  wit  is  by  no  means  al 
ways  of  the  first  order. 

We  must  not  quit  the  subject  of  his  wit,  without  presenting 
the  reader  with  some  few  of  his  pleasantries  ;  premising  that 
they  form  but  a  very  small  part  of  those  which  we  had 
marked  in  the  perusal  of  his  works  ;  and  that,  whatever  their 
merit,  it  were  easy  to  find  many  others  fully  equal  to  them, 
if  we  could  afford  space  for  citation. 

Ironically  bewailing  the  calamitous  effects  of  printing,  our 
author  exclaims  :  "  O  Printing  !  how  hast  .thou  disturbed  the 


78  ANDREW   MARVELL. 

peace  of  mankind  !  Lead,  when  moulded  into  bullets,  is  not 
so  mortal  as  when  founded  into  letters.  There  was  a  mistake, 
sure,  in  the  story  of  Cadmus ;  and  the  serpents'  teeth  which 
he  sowed  were  nothing  else  but  the  letters  which  he  invent 
ed."  Parker  having  declared,  in  relation  to  some  object  of 
his  scurrility,  that  he  had  written,  "  not  to  impair  his  esteem, 
but  to  correct  his  scribbling  humor,"  Marvell  says  :  "  Our 
author  is  as  courteous  as  lightning,  and  can  melt  the  sword 
without  ever  hurting  the  scabbard."  After  alleging  that  his 
opponent  often  has  a  by-play  of  malignity  even  when  bestow 
ing  commendations,  he  remarks  :  "  The  author's  end  was 
only  railing.  He  could  never  have  induced  himself  to  praise 
one  man  but  in  order  to  rail  on  another.  He  never  oils  his 
hone  but  that  he  may  whet  his  razor,  and  that  not  to  shave, 
but  to  cut  men's  throats."  On  Parker's  absurd  and  bombas 
tic  exaggeration  of  the  merits  and  achievements  of  Bishop 
Bramhall,  Marvell  wittily  says  :  "  Any  worthy  man  may  pass 
through  the  world  unquestioned  and  safe,  with  a  moderate 
recommendation  ;  but  when  he  is  thus  set  off  and  bedaubed 
with  rhetoric,  and  embroidered  so  thick  that  you  cannot  dis 
cern  the  ground,  it  awakens  naturally  (and  not  altogether 
unjustly)  interest,  curiosity,  and  envy.  For  all  men  pretend 
a  share  in  reputation,  and  love  not  to  see  it  engrossed  and 
monopolized  ;  and  are  subject  to  inquire  (as  of  great  estates 
suddenly  got)  whether  he  came  by  all  this  honestly,  or  of 
what  credit  the  person  is  that  tells  the  story  ?  And  the  same 

hath  happened  as  to  this  bishop Men  seeing  him 

furbished  up  in  so  martial  accoutrements,  like  another  Odo, 
Bishop  of  Baieux,  and  having  never  before  heard  of  his 
prowess,  begin  to  reflect  what  giants  he  defeated,  and  what 
damsels  he  rescued After  all  our  author's  bom 
bast,  when  we  have  searched  all  over,  we  find  ourselves 
bilked  in  our  expectation ;  and  he  hath  created  the  bishop,  - 
like  a  St.  Christopher  in  the  popish  churches,  as  big  as  ten 
porters,  and  yet  only  employed  to  sweat  under  the  burden  of 
an  infant."  Of  the  paroxysms  of  rage  with  which  Parker  re- 


ANDREW  MARVELL.  79 

fers  to  one  of  his  adversaries,  whom  he  distinguishes  by  his 
initials,  Marvell  says :  "  As  oft  as  he  does  but  name  those 
two  first  letters,  he  is  like  the  island  of  Fayal,  on  fire  in 
threescore  and  ten  places  "  ;  and  affirms,  "  that  if  he  were  of 
that  fellow's  diet  here  about  town,  that  epicurizes  on  burn 
ing  coals,  drinks  healths  in  scalding  brimstone,  scranches  the 
glasses  for  his  dessert,  and  draws  his  breath  through  glowing 
tobacco-pipes,  he  could  not  show  more  flame  than  he  always 
does  upon  that  subject."  Parker,  in  a  passage  of  unequalled 
absurdity,  having  represented  Geneva  as  on  the  south  side  of 
the  Lake  Leman,  Marvell  ingeniously  represents  the  blunder 
as  the  subject  of  discussion  in  a  private  company,  where  va 
rious  droll  solutions  are  proposed,  and  where  he,  with  exqui 
site  irony,  pretends  to  take  Parker's  part.  "  I,"  says  Mar- 
veil,  "  that  was  still  on  the  doubtful  and  excusing  part,  said, 
that,  to  give  the  right  situation  of  a  town,  it  was  necessary 
first  to  know  in  what  position  the  gentleman's  head  then  was 
when  he  made  his  observation,  and  that  might  cause  a  great 
diversity,  —  as  much  as  this  came  to."  Having  charged  his 
adversary  with  needlessly  obtruding  upon  the  world  some 
petty  matters  which  concerned  only  himself,  from  an  exag 
gerated  idea  of  his  own  importance,  Marvell  drolly  says : 
"  When  a  man  is  once  possessed  with  this  fanatic  kind  of 
spirit,  he  imagines,  if  a  shoulder  do  but  itch,  that  the  world 
has  galled  it  with  leaning  on  it  so  long,  and  therefore  he 
wisely  shrugs  to  remove  the  globe  to  the  other.  If  he  chance 
but  to  sneeze,  he  salutes  himself,  and  courteously  prays  that 
the  foundations  of  the  earth  be  not  shaken.  And  even  so 
the  author  of  the  '  Ecclesiastical  Polity,'  ever  since  he  crept 
up  to  be  but  the  weathercock  of  a  steeple,  trembles  and 
creaks  at  every  puff  of  wind  that  blows  him  about,  as  if  the 
Church  of  England  were  falling,  and  the  state  tottered." 
After  ludicrously  describing  the  effect  of  the  first  part  of  the 
"  Rehearsal "  in  exacerbating  all  his  opponent's  evil  pas 
sions,  he  remarks :  "  He  seems  not  so  fit  at  present  for  the 
archdeacon's  seat,  as  to  take  his  place  below  in  the  church 


80  ANDREW   MARVELL. 

amongst  the  energumeni"  Parker  had  charged  him  with  a  sort 
of  plagiarism  for  having  quoted  so  many  passages  out  of  his 
book.  On  this  Marvell  observes  :  "  It  has,  I  believe,  indeed 
angered  him,  as  it  has  been  no  small  trouble  to  me  ;  but  how 
can  I  help  it  ?  I  wish  he  would  be  pleased  to  teach  me  an 
art  (for,  if  any  man  in  the  world,  he  hath  it)  to  answer  a 
book,  without  turning  over  the  leaves,  or  without  citing  pas 
sages.  In  the  mean  time,  if  to  transcibe  so  much  out  of 
him  must  render  a  man,  as  he  therefore  styles  me,  a  '  scan 
dalous  plagiary,'  I  must  plead  guilty  ;  but  by  the  same  law, 
whoever  shall  either  be  witness  or  prosecutor  in  behalf  of  the 
King,  for  treasonable  words,  may  be  indicted  for  a  highway 
man."  Parker  having  viewed  some  extravaganza  of  Mar- 
veil's  riotous  wit  as  if  worthy  of  serious  comment,  the  latter 
says :  "  Whereas  I  only  threw  it  out  like  an  empty  cask  to 
amuse  him,  knowing  that  I  had  a  whale  to  deal  with,  and 
lest  he  should  overset  me ;  he  runs  away  with  it  as  a  very 
serious  business,  and  so  moyles  himself  with  tumbling  and 
tossing  it,  that  he  is  in  danger  of  melting  his  spermaceti. 
A  cork,  I  see,  will  serve  without  a  hook ;  and,  instead  of  a 
harping-iron,  this  grave  and  ponderous  creature  may,  like 
eels,  be  taken  and  pulled  up  only  with  bobbing."  After  ex 
posing,  in  a  strain  of  uncommon  eloquence,  the  wickedness 
and  folly  of  suspending  the  peace  of  the  nation  on  so  frivo 
lous  a  matter  as  "  ceremonial,"  he  says  :  "  For  a  prince  to 
adventure  all  upon  such  a  cause,  is  like  Duke  Charles  of 
Burgundy,  who  fought  three  battles  for  an  imposition  upon 
sheep-skins  "  ;  and  "  for  a  clergyman  to  offer  at  persecution 
upon  this  ceremonial  account,  is  (as  is  related  of  one  of  the 
popes)  to  justify  his  indignation  for  his  peacock,  by  the  ex 
ample  of  God's  anger  for  eating  the  forbidden  fruit."  He 
justifies  his  severity  towards  Parker  in  a  veryjudicrous  way: 
"  No  man  needs  letters  of  marque  against  one  that  is  an  open 
pirate  of  other  men's  credit.  I  remember,  within  our  own 
time,  one  Simons,  who  robbed  always  on  the  bricolle,  —  that 
is  to  say,  never  interrupted  the  passengers,  but  still  set  upon 


ANDREW    MARVELL.  81 

the  thieves  themselves,  after,  like  Sir  John  Falstaff,  they  were 
gorged  with  a  booty ;  and  by  this  way  —  so  ingenious  that 
it  was  scarce  criminal  —  he  lived  secure  and  unmolested  all 
his  days,  with  the  reputation  of  a  judge  rather  than  of  a  high 
wayman."  The  sentences  we  have  cited  are  taken  from  the 
"  Rehearsal."  We  had  marked  many  more  from  his  "  Di 
vine  in  Mode,"  and  other  writings,  but  have  no  space  for  them. 

But  he  who  supposes  Marvell  to  have  been  nothing  but  a 
wit,  simply  on  account  of  the  predominance  of  that  quality, 
will  do  him  injustice.  It  is  the  common  lot  of  such  men,  in 
whom  some  one  faculty  is  found  on  a  great  scale,  to  fail  of 
part  of  the  admiration  due  to  other  endowments ;  possessed 
in  more  moderate  degree,  indeed,  but  still  in  a  degree  far 
from  ordinary.  We  are  subject  to  the  same  illusion  in  gaz 
ing  on  mountain  scenery.  Fixing  our  eye  on  some  solitary 
peak,  which  towers  far  above  the  rest,  the  groups  of  surround 
ing  hills  look  positively  diminutive,  though  they  may,  in  fact, 
be  all  of  great  magnitude. 

This  illusion  is  further  fostered  by  another  circumstance 
in  the  case  of  great  wits.  As  the  object  of  wit  is  to  amuse, 
the  owl-like  gravity  of  thousands  of  common  readers  is  apt 
to  decide  that  wit  and  wisdom  must  dwell  apart,  and  that  the 
humorous  writer  must  necessarily  be  a  trifling  one.  For  sim 
ilar  reasons,  they  look  with  sage  suspicion  on  every  signal 
display,  either  of  fancy  or  passion  ;  think  a  splendid  illustra 
tion  nothing  but  the  ambuscade  of  a  fallacy,  and  strong  emo 
tion  as  tantamount  to  a  confession  of  unsound  judgment. 
As  Archbishop  Whately  has  well  remarked,  such  men,  hav 
ing  been  warned  that  "  ridicule  is  not  the  test  of  truth,"  and 
that  "  wisdom  and  wit  are  not  the  same  thing,  distrust  every 
thing  that  can  possibly  be  regarded  as  witty ;  not  having 
judgment  to  perceive  the  combination,  when  it  occurs,  of  wit 
and  sound  reasoning.  The  ivy  wreath  completely  conceals 
from  their  view  the  point  of  the  thyrsus." 

The  fact  is,  that  all  Marvell's  endowments  were  on  a  large 
scale,  though  his  wit  greatly  predominated.  His  judgment 


82  ANDREW  MARVELL. 

was  remarkably  clear  and  sound,  his  logic  by  no  means  con 
temptible,  his  sagacity  in  practical  matters  great,  his  talents 
for  business  apparently  of  the  first  order,  and  his  industry 
indefatigable.  His  imagination,  though  principally  employed 
in  ministering  to  his  wit,  would,  if  sufficiently  cultivated, 
have  made  him  a  poet  considerably  above  mediocrity  :  though 
chiefly  alive  to  the  ludicrous,  he  was  by  no  means  insensible 
to  the  beautiful.  We  cannot,  indeed,  bestow  all  the  praise 
on  his  Poems  which  some  of  his  critics  have  assigned  them. 
They  are  very  plentifully  disfigured  by  the  conceits  and 
quaintnesses  of  the  age,  and  as  frequently  want  grace  of  ex 
pression  and  harmony  of  numbers.  Of  the  compositions 
which  Captain  Thompson's  indiscriminate  admiration  would 
fain  have  affiliated  to  his  Muse,  the  best  are  proved  not  to  be 
his ;  and  one  is  of  doubtful  origin.  The  hymn  beginning, 

"  When  Israel,  freed  from  Pharaoh's  hand," 

is  a  well-known  composition  of  Dr.  Watts ;  while  the  ballad 
of  "  William  and  Margaret "  is  of  dubious  authorship.  Though 
probably  of  earlier  date  than  the  age  of  Mallet,  its  reputed 
author,  the  reasons  which  Captain  Thompson  gives  for  assign 
ing  it  to  Marvell  are  altogether  unsatisfactory.  Still,  there  are 
unquestionably  many  of  his  genuine  poems  which  indicate  a 
rich,  though  ill-cultivated  fancy  ;  and  in  some  few  stanzas 
there  is  no  little  grace  of  expression.  The  little  piece  on 
the  Pilgrim  Fathers,  entitled  "  The  Emigrants,"  the  fanciful 
"  Dialogue  between  Body  and  Soul,"  the  "  Dialogue  between 
the  Resolved  Soul  and  Created  Pleasure,"  and  the  "  Coronet," 
all  contain  lines  of  much  elegance  and  sweetness.  It  is  in 
his  satirical  poems,  that,  as  might  be  expected  from  the  char 
acter  of  his  mind,  his  fancy  appears  most  vigorous ;  though 
these  too  are  largely  disfigured  by  the  characteristic  defects 
of  the  age,  and  many,  it  must  be  confessed,  are  entirely  with 
out  merit.  With  two  or  three  lines  from  his  ludicrous  satire 
on  Holland,  we  cannot  refrain  from  amusing  the  reader. 
Some  of  the  strokes  of  humor  are  certainly  happy :  — 


ANDREW   MARVELL.  83 

"  Holland,  that  scarce  deserves  the  name  of  land, 
As' but  the  offscouring  of  the  British  sand  ; 
And  so  much  earth  as  was  contributed 
By  English  pilots  when  they  heaved  the  lead  ; 
Or  what  by  th'  ocean's  slow  alluvion  fell, 
Of  shipwrecked  cockle  and  the  muscle-shell ; 
This  indigested  vomit  of  the  sea 
Fell  to  the  Dutch  by  just  propriety. 
Glad  then,  as  miners  who  have  found  the  ore, 
They,  with  mad  labor,  fished  the  land  to  shore ; 
And  dived  as  desperately  for  each  piece 
Of  earth,  as  it  had  been  of  ambergris  ; 
Collecting  anxiously  small  loads  of  clay, 
Less  than  what  building  swallows  bear  away  ; 
For  as  with  pigmies  who  best  kills  the  crane, 
Among  the  hungry  he  that  treasures  grain, 
Among  the  blind  the  one-eyed  blinkard  reigns, 
So  rules  among  the  drowned  he  that  drains. 
Not  who  first  sees  the  rising  sun  commands  : 
But  who  could  first  discern  the  rising  lands. 
Who  best  could  know  to  pump  an  earth  so  leak, 
Him  they  their  lord,  and  country's  father,  speak." 

His  Latin  poems  are  amongst  his  best.  The  composition 
often  shows  no  contemptible  skill  in  that  language  ;  and  here 
and  there  the  diction  and  versification  are  such  as  would  not 
have  absolutely  disgraced  his  great  coadjutor,  Milton.  In  all 
the  higher  poetic  qualities,  there  can,  of  course,  be  no  com 
parison  between  them. 

With  such  a  mind  as  we  have  ascribed  to  him,  —  and  we 
think  his  works  fully  justify  what  has  been  said,  —  with  such 
aptitude  for  business,  soundness  of  judgment,  powers  of  rea 
soning,  and  readiness  of  sarcasm,  one  might  have  anticipated 
that  he  would  have  taken  some  rank  as  an  orator.  Nature, 
it  is  certain,  had  bestowed  upon  him  some  of  the  most  impor 
tant  intellectual  endowments  of  one.  It  is  true,  indeed,  that 
with  his  principles  and  opinions  he  would  have  found  himself 
strangely  embarrassed  in  addressing  any  Parliament  in  the 
days  of  Charles  II.,  and  stood  but  a  moderate  chance  of  ob- 


84  ANDREW   MARVELL. 

taining  a  candid  hearing.  But  we  have  no  proof  that  he  ever 
made  the  trial.  His  Parliamentary  career  in  this  respect 
resembled  that  of  a  much  greater  man,  —  Addison,  who 
with  wit  even  superior  to  his  own,  and  with  much  more  ele 
gance,  if  not  more  strength  of  mind,  failed  signally  as  a 
speaker. 

MarvelPs  learning  must  have  been  very  extensive.  His 
education  was  superior ;  and,  as  we  have  seen  from  the  testi 
mony  of  Milton,  his  industry  had  made  him  master,  during 
his  long  sojourn  on  the  Continent,  of  several  Continental  lan 
guages.  It  is  certain,  also,  that  he  continued  to  be  a  student 
all  his  days  :  his  works  bear  ample  evidence  of  his  wide  and 
miscellaneous  reading.  He  appears  to  have  been  well  versed 
in  most  branches  of  literature,  though  he  makes  no  pedan 
tic  display  of  erudition,  and  in  this  respect  is  favorably  distin 
guished  from  many  of  his  contemporaries ;  yet  he  cites  his 
authors  with  the  familiarity  of  a  thorough  scholar.  In  the 
department  of  history  he  appears  to  have  been  particularly 
well  read ;  and  derives  his  witty  illustrations  from  such  re 
mote  and  obscure  sources,  that  Parker  did  not  hesitate  to 
avow  his  belief  that  he  had  sometimes  drawn  upon  his  inven 
tion  for  them.  In  his  reply,  Marvell  justifies  himself  in  all 
the  alleged  instances,  and  takes  occasion  to  show  that  his  op 
ponent's  learning  is  as  hollow  as  all  his  other  pretensions. 

The  style  of  Marvell  is  very  unequal.  Though  often  rude 
and  unpolished,  it  abounds  in  negligent  felicities,  presents  us 
with  frequent  specimens  of  vigorous  idiomatic  English,  and 
now  and  then  attains  no  mean  degree  of  elegance.  It  bears 
the  stamp  of  the  revolution  which  was  then  passing  on  the 
language,  —  being  a  medium  between  the  involved  and  peri 
odic  structure,  so  common  during  the  former  half  of  the  cen 
tury,  and  which  was  ill  adapted  to  a  language  possessing  so 
few  inflections  as  ours,  and  that  simplicity  and  harmony  which 
were  not  fully  attained  till  the  age  of  Addison.  There  is  a 
very  large  infusion  of  short  sentences,  and  the  structure  in  gen 
eral  is  as  unlike  that  of  his  great  colleague's  prose  as  can  be 


ANDREW   MARVELL.  85 

imagined.  Many  of  MarvelPs  pages  flow  with  so  much  ease 
and  grace,  as  to  be  not  unworthy  of  a  later  period.  To  that 
revolution  in  style  to  which  we  have  just  alluded,  he  must,  in 
no  slight  degree,  have  contributed  ;  for,  little  as  his  works  are 
known  or  read  now,  the  most  noted  of  them  were  once  uni 
versally  popular  and  perused  with  pleasure,  as  Burnet  testi 
fies,  by  every  body,  "  from  the  king  to  the  tradesman." 

Numerous  examples  show,  that  it  is  almost  impossible  for 
even  the  rarest  talents  to  confer  permanent  popularity  on 
books  which  turn  on  topics  of  temporary  interest,  however 
absorbing  at  the  time.  If  Pascal's  transcendent  genius  has 
been  unable  to  rescue  even  the  "  Lettres  Provinciates  "  from 
partial  oblivion,  it  is  not  to  be  expected  that  Marvell  should 
have  done  more  for  the  "  Rehearsal  Transprosed."  Swift,  it  is 
true,  about  half  a  century  later,  was  pleased,  while  express 
ing  a  similar  opinion,  to  make  an  exception  in  favor  of  Mar- 
veil.  "  There  is  indeed,"  says  he,  "  an  exception  when  any 
great  genius  thinks  it  worth  his  while  to  expose  a  foolish  piece  ; 
so  we  still  read  Marvell's  answer  to  Parker  with  pleasure, 
though  the  book  it  answers  be  sunk  long  ago."  But  this  state 
ment  is  scarcely  applicable  now.  It  is  true  that  the  "  Re 
hearsal  "  is  occasionally  read  by  the  curious  ;  but  it  is  by  the 
resolutely  curious  alone. 

Yet  assuredly  he  has  not  lived  in  vain  who  has  successfully 
endeavored  to  abate  the  nuisances  of  his  own  time,  or  to  put 
down  some  insolent  abetter  of  vice  and  corruption.  Nor  is 
it  possible  in  a  world  like  this,  in  which  there  is  such  contin 
uity  of  causes  and  effects,  —  where  one  generation  transmits 
its  good  and  its  evil  to  the  next,  and  the  consequences  of  each 
revolution  in  principles,  opinions,  or  tastes  are  propagated 
along  the  whole  line  of  humanity,  —  to  estimate  either  the 
degree  or  perpetuity  of  the  benefits  conferred  by  the  com 
plete  success  of  works  even  of  transient  interest.  By  modi 
fying  the  age  in  which  he  lives,  a  man  may  indirectly  modify 
the  character  of  many  generations  to  come.  His  works  may 
be  forgotten  while  their  effects  survive. 


86  ANDREW   MARVELL. 

MarvelPs  history  affords  a  signal  instance  of  the  benefits 
which  may  be  derived  from  well-directed  satire.  There  are 
cases  in  which  it  may  be  a  valuable  auxiliary  to  decency,  vir 
tue,  and  religion,  where  argument  and  persuasion  both  fail. 
Many,  indeed,  doubt  both  the  legitimacy  of  the  weapon  itself, 
and  the  success  with  which  it  can  be  employed.  But  facts 
are  against  them.  To  hope  it  can  ever  supply  the  place  of 
religion  as  a  radical  cure  for  vice  or  immorality,  would  be 
chimerical ;  but  there  are  many  pernicious  customs,  violations 
of  propriety,  ridiculous,  yet  tolerated  follies,  which  religion 
can  scarcely  touch  without  endangering  her  dignity.  To  as 
sail  them  is  one  of  the  most  legitimate  offices  of  satire  ;  nor 
is  there  the  slightest  doubt  that  the  "  Spectator  "  did  more  to 
abate  many  of  the  prevailing  follies  and  pernicious  customs 
of  the  age,  than  a  thousand  homilies.  This,  however,  may 
be  admitted,  and  yet  it  may  be  said  that  it  does  not  reach  the 
case  of  Marvell  and  Parker.  Society,  it  may  be  argued,  will 
bear  the  exposure  of  its  own  evils  with  great  equanimity,  and 
perhaps  profit  by  it ;  no  individual  being  pointed  at,  and  each 
being  left  to  digest  his  own  lesson  under  the  pleasant  convic 
tion  that  it  was  designed  principally  for  his  neighbors.  As 
corporations  will  perpetuate  actions  of  which  each  individual 
member  would  be  ashamed,  so  corporations  will  listen  to 
charges  which  every  individual  member  would  regard  as  in 
sults.  But  no  man,  it  is  said,  is  likely  to  be  reclaimed  from 
error  or  vice  by  being  made  the  object  of  merciless  ridicule. 
All  this  we  believe  most  true.  But  then  it  is  not  to  be  forgot 
ten,  that  it  may  not  be  the  satirist's  object  to  reclaim  the  individ 
ual,  —  he  may  have  little  hope  of  that,  —  he  may  write  for  the 
sake  of  those  whom  his  victim  maligns  and  injures.  When  the 
exorcist  takes  Satan  in  hand,  it  is  not  because  he  is  an  Ori- 
genist,  and  "  believes  in  the  conversion  of  the  Devil,"  but  in 
pity  to  the  supposed  objects  of  his  malignity.  It  is  much  the 
same  when  a  man  like  Marvell  undertakes  to  satirize  a  man 
like  Parker.  Even  such  a  man  may  be  abashed  and  con 
founded,  though  he  cannot  be  reclaimed  ;  and  if  so,  the  satir- 


ANDREW    MARVELL.  87 

1st  gains  his  object,  and  society  gains  the  benefit.  Experi 
ence  fully  shows  us  that  there  are  many  men  who  will  be  re 
strained  by  ridicule  long  after  they  are  lost  to  virtue,  and  that 
they  are  accessible  to  shame  when  they  are  utterly  inacces 
sible  to  argument. 

This  was  just  the  good  that  Marvell  effected.  He  made 
Parker,  it  is  true,  more  furious ;  but  he  diverted,  if  he  could 
not  turn,  the  tide  of  popular  feeling,  and  thus  prevented  much 
mischief.  Parker,  and  others  like  him,  were  doing  all  they 
could  to  inflame  angry  passions,  to  revive  the  most  extrava 
gant  pretensions  of  tyranny,  and  to  preach  up  another  cru 
sade  against  the  nonconformists.  MarvelPs  books  were  a 
conductor  to  the  dangerous  fluid ;  if  there  was  any  explosion 
at  all,  it  was  an  explosion  of  merriment.  "  He  had  all  the 
laughers  on  his  side,"  says  Burnet.  In  Charles  II.'s  reign 
there  were  few  who  belonged  to  any  other  class  ;  and  then, 
as  now,  men  found  it  impossible  to  laugh  and  be  angry  at  the 
same  time.  It  is  our  firm  belief,  that  Marvell  did  more  to 
humble  Parker,  and  neutralize  the  influence  of  his  party,  by 
the  "  Rehearsal  Transprosed,"  than  he  could  have  done  by 
writing  half  a  dozen  folios  of  polemical  divinity  ;  just  as  Pas 
cal  did  more  to  unmask  the  Jesuits  and  damage  their  cause 
by  his  "  Provincial  Letters,"  than  had  been  effected  by  all 
the  efforts  of  all  their  other  opponents  put  together. 

But  admirable  as  were  MarvelPs  intellectual  endowments, 
it  is  his  moral  worth,  after  all,  which  constitutes  his  principal 
claim  on  the  admiration  of  posterity,  and  which  sheds  a  re 
deeming  lustre  on  one  of  the  darkest  pages  of  the  English 
annals.  Inflexible  integrity  was  the  basis  of  it,  —  integrity 
by  which  he  has  not  unworthily  earned  the  glorious  name  of 
the  "  British  Aristides."  With  talents  and  acquirements 
which  might  have  justified  him  in  aspiring  to  almost  any 
office,  if  he  could  have  disburdened  himself  of  his  conscience  ; 
with  wit  which,  in  that  frivolous  age,  was  a  surer  passport  to 
fame  than  any  amount  either  of  intellect  or  virtue,  and  which, 
as  we  have  seen,  mollified  even  the  monarch  himself,  in  spite 
of  prejudice  ;  Marvell  preferred  poverty  and  independence 


88  ANDREW    MARVELL. 

to  riches  and  servility.  He  had  learned  the  lesson,  prac 
tised  by  few  in  that  age,  of  being  content  with  little,  —  so 
that  he  preserved  his  conscience.  He  could  be  poor,  but  he 
could  not  be  mean  ;  could  starve,  but  could  not  cringe.  By 
economizing  in  the  articles  of  pride  and  ambition,  he  could 
afford  to  keep  what  their  votaries  were  compelled  to  retrench, 
the  necessaries,  or  rather  the  luxuries,  of  integrity  and  a  good 
conscience.  Neither  menaces,  nor  caresses,  nor  bribes,  nor 
poverty,  nor  distress,  could  induce  him  to  abandon  his  integ 
rity  ;  or  even  to  take  an  office  in  which  it  might  be  tempted 
or  endangered.  He  only  who  has  arrived  at  this  pitch  of 
magnanimity,  has  an  adequate  security  for  his  public  virtue. 
He  who  cannot  subsist  upon  a  little,  who  has  not  learned  to 
be  content  with  such  things  as  he  has,  and  even  to  be  content 
with  almost  nothing ;  who  has  not  learned  to  familiarize  his 
thoughts  to  poverty,  much  more  readily  than  he  can  familiar 
ize  them  to  dishonor,  is  not  yet  free  from  peril.  Andrew 
Marvell,  as  his  whole  course  proves,  had  done  this.  But  we 
shall  not  do  full  justice  to  his  public  integrity,  if  we  do  not 
bear  in  mind  the  corruption  of  the  age  in  which  he  lived ;  the 
manifold  apostasies  amidst  which  he  retained  his  conscience  ; 
and  the  effect  which  such  wide-spread  profligacy  must  have 
had  in  making  thousands  almost  sceptical  as  to  whether  there 
were  such  a  thing  as  public  virtue  at  all.  Such  a  relaxation 
in  the  code  of  speculative  morals  is  one  of  the  worst  results 
of  general  profligacy  in  practice.  But  Andrew  Marvell  was 
not  to  be  deluded ;  and  amidst  corruption  perfectly  unparal 
leled,  he  still  continued  untainted.  We  are  accustomed  to 
hear  of  his  virtue  as  a  truly  Roman  virtue,  and  so  it  was  ;  but 
it  was  something  more.  Only  the  best  pages  of  Roman  his 
tory  can  supply  a  parallel  ;  there  was  no  Cincinnatus  in  those 
ages  of  her  shame  which  alone  can  be  compared  with  those 
of  Charles  II.  It  were  far  easier  to  find  a  Cincinnatus  during 
the  period  of  the  English  Commonwealth,  than  an  Andrew 
Marvell  in  the  age  of  Commodus. 

The  integrity  and  patriotism  which  distinguished  him  in 
his  relations  to  the  Court,  also  marked  all  his  public  conduct. 


ANDREW    MARVELL.  89 

He  was  evidently  most  scrupulously  honest  and  faithful  in  the 
discharge  of  his  duty  to  his  constituents  ;  and,  as  we  have 
seen,  punctilious  in  guarding  against  any  thing  which  could 
tarnish  his  fair  fame,  or  defile  his  conscience.  On  reviewing 
the  whole  of  his  public  conduct,  we  may  well  say  that  he  at 
tained  his  wish,  expressed  in  the  lines  which  he  has  written  in 
imitation  of  a  chorus  in  the  Thyestes  of  Seneca  :  — 

"  Climb  at  court  for  me  that  will 
Tottering  favor's  pinnacle ; 
All  I  seek  is  to  lie  still. 
Settled  in  some  secret  nest, 
In  calm  leisure  let  me  rest, 
And,  far  off  the  public  stage, 
Pass  away  my  silent  age. 
Thus,  when  without  noise,  unknown, 
I  have  lived  out  all  my  span, 
I  shall  die  without  a  groan, 
An  old,  honest  countryman." 

He  seems  to  have  been  as  amiable  in  his  private  as  he  was 
estimable  in  his  public  character.  So  far  as  any  documents 
throw  light  upon  the  subject,  the  same  integrity  appears  to 
have  been  the  basis  of  both.  He  is  described  as  of  a  very 
reserved  and  quiet  temper  ;  but  like  Addison,  (whom  in  this 
respect,  as  in  some  few  others,  he  resembled,)  exceedingly 
facetious  and  lively  amongst  his  intimate  friends.  His  disin 
terested  championship  of  others  is  no  less  a  proof  of  his 
sympathy  with  the  oppressed  than  of  his  abhorrence  of  op 
pression  ;  and  many  pleasing  traits  of  amiability  occur  in  his 
private  correspondence,  as  well  as  in  his  writings.  On  the 
whole,  we  think  that  Marvell's  epitaph,  strong  as  the  terms  of 
panegyric  are,  records  little  more  than  the  truth  ;  and  that 
it  was  not  in  the  vain  spirit  of  boasting,  but  in  the  honest  con 
sciousness  of  virtue  and  integrity,  that  he  himself  concludes 
a  letter  to  one  of  his  correspondents  in  the  words,  — 

"  Disce,  puer,  virtutem  ex  me,  verumque  laborem  ; 
Fortunam  ex  aliis." 
8* 


LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHAR 
ACTER.* 


THE  familiar  letters  of  a  great  man,  if  they  are  sufficiently 
copious,  written  on  a  variety  of  themes,  and  really  unpre 
meditated,  probably  furnish  us  with  more  accurate  data  for 
estimating  his  character,  than  either  the  most  voluminous  de 
liberate  compositions,  or  the  largest  traditional  collections  of 
his  conversation.  The  former  will  always  conceal  much 
which  letters  will  disclose  ;  will  give  not  only  an  imperfect, 
but  perhaps  false  idea,  of  many  points  of  character  ;  and  will 
certainly  suggest  an  exaggerated  estimate  of  all  the  ordinary 
habitudes  of  thought  and  expression.  The  latter  will  often 
fall  as  much  below  the  true  mean  of  such  a  man's  merits ; 
and,  what  is  of  more  consequence,  must  depend  —  except  in 
the  rare  case  in  which  some  faithful  Boswell  continually  dogs 
the  heels  of  genius  —  on  the  doubtful  authority  and  leaky 
memory  of  those  who  report  it.  Letters,  on  the  other  hand, 

*  "Edinburgh  Review,"  July,  1845. 

Dr.  Martin  Luther's  Brief e,  Sendschreiben  und  Bedenken,  vollstandig  aus 
den  verschiedenen  A  usgaben  seiner  Werke  und  Brief e,  aus  andern  Buchern 
und  noch  unbenutzten  Handschriften  gesammelt.  Kritisch  und  historisch  bear- 
beitet  von  DR.  WILHELM  MARTIN  LEBERECHT  DE  WETTE.  5  vols. 
8vo.  Berlin. 

(Dr.  Martin  Luther's  Entire  Correspondence,  carefully  compiled  from  the 
various  Editions  of  his  Works  and  Letters,  from  other  Books,  and  from 
Manuscripts  as  yet  private.  Edited,  with  Critical  and  Historical  Notes,  by 
DR.  WILHELM  MARTIN  LEBERECHT  DE  WETTE.) 


LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER.         91 

if  they  be  copious,  unpremeditated,  and  not  intended  for  the 
eye  of  the  world,  will  exhibit  the  character  in  all  its  moods 
and  phases,  and  by  its  own  utterances.  While  some  will  dis 
close  to  us  the  habitual  states  of  thought  and  feeling,  and 
admit  us  even  into  the  privacy  of  the  heart,  others,  composed 
under  the  stimulus  of  great  emergencies,  and  in  those  occa 
sional  auspicious  expansions  of  the  faculties,  which  neither 
come  nor  cease  at  our  bidding,  will  furnish  no  unworthy  cri 
terion  of  what  such  a  mind,  even  in  its  most  elevated  moods, 
or  by  its  most  deliberate  efforts,  can  accomplish. 

If  ever  any  man's  character  could  be  advantageously  stud 
ied  in  his  letters,  it  is  surely  that  of  Luther.  They  are 
addressed  to  all  sorts  of  persons,  are  composed  on  an  immense 
diversity  of  subjects,  and,  as  to  the  mass  of  them,  are  more 
thoroughly  unpremeditated,  as  well  as  more  completely  sug 
gested  ex  visceribus  causce,  to  use  the  phrase  of  Cicero,  than 
those  of  almost  any  other  man.  They  are  also  more  copious ; 
as  copious  as  those  even  of  his  great  contemporary,  Erasmus, 
to  whom  letter-writing  was  equally  business  and  amusement. 
What  appear  voluminous  collections  in  our  degenerate  days, 
those  of  Sevigne,  Pope,  Walpole,  Cowper,  even  of  Swift, 
dwindle  in  comparison.  In  De  Wette's  most  authentic  and 
admirable  edition,  they  occupy  five  very  thick  and  closely 
printed  volumes.  The  learned  compiler,  in  a  preface  amus 
ingly  characteristic  of  the  literary  zeal  and  indefatigable  re 
search  of  Germany,  tells  us,  that  he  has  unearthed  from  ob 
scure  hiding-places  and  mouldering  manuscripts  more  than  a 
hundred  unprinted  letters,  and  enriched  the  present  collection 
with  their  contents.  By  himself,  or  his  literary  agents,  he 
has  ransacked  "  the  treasures  of  the  archives  of  Weimar,  the 
libraries  at  Jen'a,  Erfurt,  Gotha,  Wolfenbiittel,  Frankfort-on- 
the-Maine,  Heidelberg,  and  Basle  "  ;  and  has  received  "  pre 
cious  contributions"  from  Breslau,  Riga,  Strasburg,  Munich, 
Zurich,  and  other  places.  There  are  many,  no  doubt,  which 
time  has  consigned  to  oblivion,  and  perhaps  some  few  which 
still  lie  unknown  in  public  or  private  repositories,  —  undetect- 


92 


ed  even  by  the  acute  literary  scent  of  De  Wette,  and  his  em 
issaries.  But  there  are  enough  in  all  conscience  to  satisfy- 
any  ordinary  appetite,  and  to  illustrate,  if  any  thing  can,  the 
history  and  character  of  him  who  penned  them. 

Even  in  a  purely  literary  point  of  view,  these  letters  are 
not  unworthy  of  comparison  with  any  thing  Luther  has  left 
behind  him.  They  contain  no  larger  portion  of  indifferent 
Latin,  scarcely  so  much  of  his  characteristic  violence  and 
rudeness  ;  while  they  display  in  beautiful  relief  all  the  more 
tender  and  amiable  traits  of  his  character,  and  are  fraught 
with  brief  but  most  striking  specimens  of  that  intense  and 
burning  eloquence  for  which  he  was  so  famed.  Very  rrfany 
of  them  well  deserve  the  admiration  which  Coleridge  (who 
regretted  that  selections  from  them  had  not  been  given  to  the 
English  public)  has  so  strongly  expressed.  "  I  can  scarcely 
conceive,"  he  says,  "  a  more  delightful  volume  than  might  be 
made  from  Luther's  letters,  especially  those  written  from  the 
Wartburg,  if  they  were  translated  in  the  simple,  sinewy,  idio 
matic,  hearty  mother  tongue  of  the  original A  diffi 
cult  task  I  admit."  He  is  speaking,  of  course,  of  Luther's 
German  letters.  Almost  all,  however,  from  the  Wartburg 
are  in  Latin. 

Of  late  years  they  have  received  considerable  attention. 
M.  Michelet,  in  his  very  pleasing  volumes,  in  which  he  has 
made  Luther  draw  his  own  portrait,  by  presenting  a  series 
of  extracts  from  his  writings,  has  derived  no  small  portion  of 
his  materials  from  the  letters  ;  while  all  recent  historians  of 
the  Reformation,  especially  D'Aubigne  and  Waddington,* 

*  We  cannot  mention  the  name  of  Dr.  Waddington  without  thanking 
him  for  the  gratification  we  have  derived  from  the  perusal  of  the  three 
volumes  of  his  li  History  of  the  Reformation,"  and  expressing  our  hopes 
that  he  will  soon  fulfil  his  promise  of  a  fourth.  Less  brilliant  than  that 
of  D'Aubigne,  his  work  is  at  least  its  equal  in  research,  certainly  not  in 
ferior  in  the  comprehensiveness  of  its  views,  or  the  solidity  of  its  reflec 
tions,  and  in  severe  fidelity  is  perhaps  even  superior.  Not  that,  in  this 
last  respect,  we  have  much  to  complain  of  in  D'Aubigne ;  but  as  he  has 


LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER.         93 

have  dug  deep,  and  with  immense  advantage,  in  the  same 
mine.  Not  only  do  they  form,  as  De  Wette  says,  "  a  diary, 
as  it  were,  of  Luther's  life,"  "  gleichsam  ein  Tagebuch  seines 
Lebens  " ;  but  they  enable  us  to  trace  better  than  in  almost 
any  history,  because  more  minutely,  the  whole  early  progress 
of  the  Reformation. 

As  we  conceive  that  Luther's  character  could  be  nowhere 
more  advantageously  studied  than  in  this  voluminous  corre 
spondence,  we  propose  in  the  present  article  to  make  it  the 
basis  of  a  few  remarks  on  his  most  prominent  intellectual  and 
moral  qualities. 

No  modern  author,  in  our  opinion,  has  done  such  signal 
injustice  to  Luther's  intellect  as  Mr.  Hallam,  whose  excellent 
and  well-practised  judgment  seems  to  us,  in  this  instance,  to 
have  entirely  deserted  him.  "  Luther's  amazing  influence 
on  the  revolutions  of  his  own  age,  and  on  the  opinions  of  man 
kind,  seems,"  says  he,  "  to  have  produced,  as  is  not  unnatu 
ral,  an  exaggerated  notion  of  his  intellectual  greatness."  ! 
And  he  then  proceeds  to  reduce  it  to  assuredly  veiy  moderate 
dimensions,  founding  his  judgment  principally  on  Luther's 
writings. 

Now,  if  Mr.  Hallam  had  been  nothing  more  than  a  mere 
critic,  we  should  not  have  wondered  at  such  a  decision.  Il 
would  have  been  as  natural  in  that  case  to  misinterpret  the 
genius  of  Luther,  as  for  Mallet  to  write  the  life  of  Bacon  and 
"  forget  that  he  was  a  philosopher."  But  when  we  reflect 

great  skill  in  the  selection  and  graphic  disposition  of  his  materials,  so  he 
sometimes  sacrifices  a  little  too  much  to  gratify  it,  —  as,  for  example,  in 
the  dramatic  form  he  has  given  to  Luther's  narrative  of  his  interview 
with  Miltitz  (Vol.  II.  pp.  8-12).  There  is  also  a  too  uniform  brilliancy, 
and  too  little  repose  about  the  style.  But  it  were  most  ungrateful  to  de 
ny  the  rare  merits  of  the  work.  We  only  hope  its  unprecedented  pop 
ularity  may  not  deprive  us  of  another  volume  from  the  pen  of  Dr  Wad- 
dington.  His  u  History  of  the  Reformation  "  is,  in  our  judgment,  very 
superior  to  his  "  Church  History,"  though  that  has  no  inconsiderable 
merit. 
*  Introduction  to  the  Literature  of  Europe,  Vol.  I.  p.  513. 


94          LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER. 

that  Mr.  Hallam  is  not  a  mere  literary  critic,  and  that  what 
soever  honors  he  may  have  achieved  in  that  capacity  are  yet 
inferior  to  those  which  he  has  attained  as  a  philosophical 
historian,  we  confess  our  astonishment  at  the  low  estimate  he 
seems  to  have  formed  of  Luther's  intellect. 

This  seems  to  have  arisen  from  contemplating  Luther's 
character  too  exclusively  in  the  point  of  view  suggested  by 
the  literary  nature  of  the  work  on  which  the  critic  was  at  the 
time  engaged.  It  is  true  that  the  Reformer's  mind  did  not 
belong  exclusively,  or  even  prevailingly,  to  either  of  the  two 
principal  types  with  which  we  more  usually  associate  genius, 
and  which  almost  divide  the  page  of  literary  history  between 
them.  The  one  is  the  prevailingly  philosophical  tempera 
ment,  with  numberless  specific  differences  ;  the  other,  the 
prevailingly  poetical,  with  differences  equally  numerous :  the 
passion  of  the  one  class  of  minds  is  speculative  and  scientific 
truth  ;  that  of  the  other,  ideal  beauty.  Yet  there  is  another, 
and  not  less  imposing,  form  of  human  genius,  though  it  does 
not  figure  much  on  the  page  of  literary  history,  which  has 
made  men  as  illustrious  as  man  was  ever  made,  either  by 
depth  or  subtlety  of  speculation,  —  by  opulence  or  brilliancy 
of  fancy.  This  class  of  minds  unite  some  of  the  rarest  en 
dowments  of  the  philosophical  and  poetical  temperaments  ; 
and  though  the  reason  in  such  men  is  not  such  as  would  have 
made  an  Aristotle,  nor  the  imagination  such  as  would  have 
made  a  Homer,  these  elements  are  mingled  in  such  propor 
tions  and  combinations  as  render  the  product  —  the  tertium 
quid  —  not  less  wonderful  than  the  greatest  expansion  of  ei 
ther  element  alone.  To  these  are  superadded  some  qualities 
which  neither  bard  nor  philosopher  ever  'possessed,  and  the 
whole  is  subjected  to  the  action  of  an  energetic  will  and  pow 
erful  passions.  Such  are  the  minds  which  are  destined  to 
change  the  face  of  the  world,  to  originate  or  control  great 
revolutions,  to  govern  the  actions  of  men  by  a  sagacious  cal 
culation  of  motives,  or  to  govern  their  very  thoughts  by  the 
magical  power  of  their  eloquence.  They  are  the  stuff  out 


LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER.          95 

of  which  great  statesmen,  great  conquerors,  great  orators, 
are  made  ;  —  by  the  last,  however,  not  meaning  the  mere 
"  mob  orator,"  who  attains  and  preserves  a  powerful  influence 
by  just  following  the  multitude  he  appears  to  lead,  and  who, 
if  popular,  is  popular  in  virtue  of  Swift's  receipt  for  becoming^ 
a  wise  man,  —  that  is,  by  agreeing  with  whatever  any  one 
may  say  ;  we  mean  the  man  who,  if  need  be,  can  stem  the 
torrent  as  well  as  drift  upon  it ;  who,  upon  occasion,  can  tell 
unpalatable  truths  and  yet  rivet  attention.  To  be  such  an 
orator  requires  many  of  the  qualities  of  the  philosophical 
statesman,  —  the  same  deep  knowledge  of  the  mechanism  of 
human  nature  in  general,  the  same  keen  perception  of  the 
motives  and  feelings  of  the  so-conditioned  humanity  with 
which  it  has  to  deal,  the  same  ready  appreciation  of  the  top 
ics  and  arguments  likely  to  prevail,  the  same  sagacity  in  cal 
culating  moral  causes  and  effects  ;  and  we  need  not  wonder, 
therefore,  that  the  great  statesman  and  the  persuasive  orator 
have  so  often  been  found  united  in  the  same  individual. 

Now,  to  achieve  any  of  the  great  tasks  to  which  this  class 
of  minds  seem  born  ;  to  manage  vast  and  difficult  affairs  with 
address,  and  bring  them  to  an  unexpectedly  prosperous  issue  ; 
to  know  how  to  seize  the  critical  moment  of  action  with  prop 
er  decision,  or  to  exercise  patience  and  self-control  in  waiting 
for  it ;  to  penetrate  the  springs  of  human  conduct,  whether 
in  the  genus  or  the  individual ;  to  sway  the  minds  of  whole 
communities,  as  whole  forests  bow  at  once  before  the  voice 
of  the  tempest ;  to  comprehend  and  calculate  the  inter 
action  of  numberless  causes  and  effects  ;  to  originate  and  ex 
ecute  daring  enterprises  in  the  face  of  many  obstacles,  phys 
ical  and  moral,  and  not  only  in  the  midst  of  opposite  wills 
and  conflicting  interests,  but  often  by  means  of  them,  —  all 
this  seems  to  us  to  imply  as  wonderful  a  combination  of  intel 
lectual  qualities  as  that  which  enables  the  mathematical  ana 
lyst  to  disentangle  the  intricacies  of  a  transcendental  equation, 
or  the  metaphysician  to  speculate  profoundly  on  the  freedom  of 
the  human  will,  or  the  origin  of  evil.  Nor  do  those  who  have 


96 


thus  been  both  authors  and  actors  in  the  real  drama  of  history, 
appear  to  us  less  worthy  of  our  admiration  than  those  who  have 
but  imagined  what  the  former  have  achieved.  There  are,  un 
questionably,  men  who  have  been  as  famous  for  what  they  have 
done,  as  others  have  been  or  can  be  for  what  they  have  written. 

It  is  precisely  to  such  an  order  of  genius,  —  whatever  his 
merits  or  defects  as  a  writer,  —  that  the  intellect  of  Luther  is, 
in  our  judgment,  to  be  referred  ;  and,  considered  in  this  point 
of  view,  we  doubt  whether  it  is  very  possible  to  exaggerate 
its  greatness.  In  a  sagacious  and  comprehensive  survey  of 
the  peculiarities  of  his  position  in  all  the  rapid  changes  of  his 
most  eventful  history  ;  in  penetrating  the  characters  and  de 
tecting  the  motives  of  those  with  whom  he  had  to  deal ;  in 
fertility  of  expedients  ;  in  promptitude  of  judgment  and  of 
action ;  in  nicely  calculating  the  effect  of  bold  measures,  es 
pecially  in  great  emergencies,  —  as  when  he  burnt  the  papal 
bull,  and  appeared  at  the  Diet  of  Worms  ;  in  selecting  the 
arguments  likely  to  prevail  with  the  mass  of  men,  and  in  that 
contagious  enthusiasm  of  character  which  imbues  and  inspires 
them  with  a  spirit  like  its  own,  and  fills  them  with  boundless 
confidence  in  its  leadership  ;  —  in  all  these  respects,  Luther 
does  not  appear  to  us  far  behind  any  of  those  who  have 
played  illustrious  parts  in  this  world's  affairs,  or  obtained  an 
empire  over  the  minds  of  their  species. 

And  surely  this  is  sufficient  for  one  man.  No  one  ever 
denies  the  intellect  of  Pericles  or  Alexander,  Cromwell  or 
Napoleon,  to  be  of  the  highest  order,  merely  because  none 
of  these  have  left  ingenious  treatises  of  philosophy,  or  exqui 
site  strains  of  poetry,  or  exhibited  any  of  the  traces  either  of 
a  calm  or  beautiful  intellect :  and  in  like  manner  it  is  enough 
for  Luther  to  be  known  as  the  author  of  the  Reformation. 

Such  are  the  original  limitations  of  the  human  faculties,  and 
so  distinct  the  forms  of  intellectual  excellence,  that  it  is  at  best 
but  one  comparatively  little  sphere  that  even  the  greatest  of 
men  is  qualified  to  fill.  Take  him  out  of  that,  and  the  giant  be 
comes  a  dwarf,  the  genius  a  helpless  changeling.  Aristotle, 


LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER.         97 

though  he  wrote  admirably  on  rhetoric,  would  have  made,  we 
fear,  but  an  indifferent  Demosthenes  ;  and  Demosthenes  would 
probably  have  been  but  an  obscure  expounder  of  the  princi 
ples  of  his  own  art.  After  making  all  allowances  for  the 
influence  of  education,  and  conceding  that  it  is  difficult  to 
calculate  the  condition  of  any  mind  under  a  different  training, 
we  are  compelled  to  admit  that  there  are  cases,  and  those 
usually  of  minds  preeminently  great  in  a  single  department, 
where  the  native  bias  is  so  strong,  that  it  is  beyond  the  art  of 
all  the  schoolmastering  in  the  world  to  alter  it. 

Earnestly  contending  that  Luther's  intellect  is  to  be  princi 
pally  regarded  in  the  light  we  have  indicated,  we  yet  must 
profess  our  belief,  that,  even  in  a  purely  literary  point  of  view, 
Mr.  Hallam  has  done  him  less  than  justice.  When  we  consid 
er  the  popular  design  of  his  writings,  and  that  they  fulfilled  it, 
many  of  their  apparent  defects  will  disappear  ;  and  when  we 
consider  their  voluminousness,  the  rapidity  with  which  they 
were  thrown  off,  and  the  overwhelming  engagements  under 
the  pressure  of  which  they  were  produced,  many  real  defects 
may  well  be  pardoned.  A  word  or  two  on  each  of  these  topics. 

As  to  their  character,  they  were  chiefly  designed  ad  popu- 
lum,  —  addressed  to  human  nature  so-and-so  conditioned; 
and  whether  we  look  at  what  history  has  told  us  of  the  state 
of  that  public  mind  to  which  they  appealed,  or  to  their  notori 
ous  effects,  we  think  it  must  be  admitted,  that  they  were  ad 
mirably  calculated  to  accomplish  their  purpose.  It  has  been 
already  said,  that  we  must  look  in  the  mind  of  Luther  for  the 
species  of  greatness  which  may  fairly  be  expected  there,  and 
not  for  one  to  which  an  intellect  so  constituted  could  make  no 
pretensions.  No  man  will  challenge  for  him  the  praise  of 
metaphysical  subtlety,  or  calmness  of  judgment  in  dealing 
with  evidence.  To  neither  the  one  nor  the  other  surely  can 
Tie  lay  claim,  who  flatters  himself  that  he  has  found  an  escape 
from  the  absurdities  of  transubstantiation  in  the  equal  absurd 
ities  of  consubstantiation  ;  or  who  thinks  himself  warranted 
in  setting  aside  the  evidence  for  the  authenticity  of  the  Epis- 


98 


tie  of  James,  because  he  supposes  he  has  found  a  sentence 
in  it  which  contradicts  his  interpretation  of  an  Epistle  of  Paul, 
the  authenticity  of  which  has  no  higher  evidence.  The  class 
of  intellects  to  which  we  have  ventured  to  refer  that  of  Luther 
are  robust  and  sagacious,  rather  than  subtle  or  profound  ;  lit 
tle  fitted  for  the  investigation  of  abstract  truth,  and  impatient 
of  whatever  is  not  practical ;  better  adapted  for  a  skilful  ad 
vocacy  of  principles  than  for  calm  investigation  of  them,  and 
little  solicitous,  in  their  exhibition,  of  philosophic  precision 
or  theoretic  completeness.  Seizing  with  instinctive  sagacity 
those  points  which  are  best  calculated  to  influence  the  com 
mon  mind,  they  are  not  very  ambitious  (even  if  they  could 
attain  it)  of  the  praise  of  a  severely  logical  method.  But 
they  well  know  how  to  do  that  for  which  the  mere  philosopher 
in  his  turn  would  find  himself  strangely  incapacitated.  They 
estimate  precisely  the  measure  of  knowledge  or  of  ignorance, 
the  prejudices  and  the  passions,  of  those  with  whom  they  have 
to  deal,  and  pitch  the  whole  tone  of  argument  in  unison  with  it. 
They  judge  of  arguments,  not  so  much  by  their  abstract  value, 
or  even  by  the  degree  of  force  they  may  have  on  their  minds, 
as  by  the  relation  in  which  they  are  likely  to  be  viewed  by 
others  :  if  necessary,  they  prefer  even  a  comparatively  feeble 
argument,  if  it  can  be  made  readily  intelligible,  and  be  forci 
bly  exhibited,  to  a  stronger  one,  if  that  stronger  one  be  so  re 
fined  as  to  escape  the  appreciation  of  the  common  mind. 

And  such  topics  they  treat  with  a  vivacity  and  vehemence 
of  which  a  philosopher  would  be  as  incapable  as  he  would  be 
disgusted  with  the  method.  He  is  but  too  apt,  when  he  as 
sumes  the  uncongenial  office  of  a  popular  instructor,  to  gener 
alize  particular  statements  into  their  most  abstract  expression ; 
he  resembles  the  mathematician,  who  is  not  satisfied  till  he 
has  clothed  the  determinate  quantities  of  arithmetic  in  the 
universal  symbols  of  algebra ;  he  must  assign  each  argument 
its  place,  not  according  to  its  relative  weight,  but  according  to 
his  own  notions  of  its  abstract  conclusiveness  ;  he  must  adopt 
the  only  method  which  philosophical  precision  demands,  and 


99 


to  violate  it  would  be  more  than  his  fastidious  taste  can 
prevail  upon  itself  to  concede  to  that  vulgar  thing,  —  the 
practical. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  institute  any  comparison  as  to  the 
comparative  value  or  dignity  of  the  functions  of  those  whose 
calm  intellect  best  qualifies  them  to  investigate  truth,  and  of 
those  whose  prerogative  it  is  to  make  it  triumph,  not  only 
over  the  understandings  of  men,  but  over  their  imaginations 
and  affections ;  to  give  it  a  vivid  presence  in  the  heart.  It 
suffices  that  neither  class  can  be  fully  equipped  for  their  high 
tasks  without  a  mental  organization  exquisitely  adapted  to  its 
object,  and  well  worthy  of  the  highest  admiration.  They  are 
the  complements  of  each  other,  and  neither  can  be  perfect 
alone.  "  The  wise  in  heart,"  says  Solomon,  "  shall  be  called 
prudent,  but  the  sweetness  of  the  lips  increaseth  learning." 
Truth  at  the  bottom  of  her  well  is  of  about  as  much  use  as 
water  there,  and  is  of  very  little  use  without  some  appliances 
to  bring  it  to  the  lips  of  the  thirsty. 

Those  who  would  do  such  a  man  as  Luther  justice  in  the 
perusal  of  his  controversial  writings,  must  bear  such  consid 
erations  in  mind.  It  must  be  recollected  that  they  were  most 
of  them  composed  pro  re  nata^  —  for  the  purpose  of  impress 
ing  the  popular  mind  in  given  circumstances,  in  an  age  of 
great  ignorance,  barbarism,  and  coarseness.  We  are  at  best 
not  altogether  qualified  to  judge  how  far  they  were  wisely 
adapted  to  their  end ;  but  we  are  convinced  that  the  more 
carefully  the  whole  relations  of  Luther  and  his  age  are  stud 
ied,  the  more  will  they  be  found  to  illustrate  his  general  sa 
gacity,  and  the  less  reason  will  they  leave  us  to  wonder  at 
their  astonishing  success. 

Even  his  positive  faults  —  as,  for  example,  his  violence  of 
invective  and  his  excessive  diffuseness,  which  we  do  not 
deny  flowed  in  a  great  measure,  the  one  from  the  vehemence 
of  his  nature,  and  the  other  from  the  haste  with  which  he 
wrote  —  were  often  deliberately  committed  by  him,  as  most 
likely  to  answer  his  purpose.  We  should  hesitate  to  state 


100        LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER. 

this,  were  it  not  for  Luther's  repeated  and  explicit  declara 
tions  on  this  very  point,  in  his  letters.  We  should  hesitate, 
because  we  are  jealous  of  that  biographical  prejudice  which 
will  still  find  out  that  the  object  of  its  blind  eulogy  had  some 
deep  design  even  in  the  veriest  blunders ;  and  that  foibles 
and  failings  not  only  "  leaned  to  virtue's  side,"  but  were 
themselves  virtues. 

In  both  the  above  points,  Luther  unquestionably  has  sins 
enough  to  answer  for ;  he  is  as  often  tedious  and  inelegant 
as  offensively  coarse.  Still,  —  however  it  may  be  thought 
that  we  are  defending  his  sagacity  at  the  expense  of  things 
quite  as  valuable,  his  taste  and  good  feeling,  —  nothing  is 
clearer,  from  his  own  admissions,  than  that  he  often  commit 
ted  these  faults  of  set  purpose,  and  with  his  eyes  wide  open. 
Thus  he  apologizes  for  the  diffuseness  of  certain  compositions 
in  his  letters  (No.  32  and  No.  134),  on  the  ground  that  they 
were  designed  for  the  "  rudest  ears  and  understandings." 
To  the  common  mind  of  his  day,  truths  which  are  to  us  tru 
isms, —  which  will  hardly  bear  the  briefest  expression, — 
which,  in  fact,  are  so  familiar  that  they  are  forgotten,  —  were 
startling  novelties.  The  populace  required,  in  his  judgment, 
"  line  upon  line,  and  precept  upon  precept "  ;  not  only  "  here 
a  little,  and  there  a  little,"  but  here  and  there,  and  everywhere, 
a  great  deal.  The  same  apology  is  required  for  the  diffuse- 
ness  of  other  theologians  of  that  -day,  of  far  severer  intellect, 
and  much  more  elegance,  —  Calvin  and  Melancthon,  for  ex 
ample.  As  to  his  arrogant  tone  and  rude  invective,  though 
both  were  natural  expressions  of  the  enthusiasm  and  vehe 
mence  of  his  character,  they  also  were  systematically  adopted, 
and  were  both,  no  doubt,  upon  the  whole,  most  subservient  to 
his  purpose.  Timidity  and  irresolution  would  have  been  his 
ruin.  On  the  other  hand,  his  self-reliance  and  fearlessness, 
—  the  grandeur  and  dilation  of  his  carriage,  —  his  very  con 
tempt  of  his  adversaries,  —  all  tended  to  give  courage  and 
confidence  to  those  who  possessed  them  not,  and  to  inspire 
his  party  with  his  own  spirit.  His  voice  never  failed  to  act 


LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER.         101 

like  a  trumpet-call  upon  the  hearts  of  his  followers,  —  to  re 
assure  them  when  depressed,  and  to  rally  them  when  defeat 
ed.  No  other  tone,  no  other  language,  could  have  had  the 
same  effect.  Considering  his  position,  there  is  a  sort  of  sub 
limity  in  his  audacity.  "  I  know  and  am  certain,"  says  he 
to  Spalatin  (1521),  "that  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord  lives  and 
reigns  ;  and,  buoyant  in  this  knowledge  and  confidence,  I  will 
not  fear  a  hundred  thousand  popes."  "  My  doctrines  will 
stand,"  .says  he  the  following  year,  in  his  reply  to  King  Hen 
ry,  "  and  the  Pope  will  fall  in  spite  of  all  the  powers  of  air, 
earth,  hell.  They  have  provoked  me  to  war ;  they  shall  have 
it.  They  scorned  the  peace  I  offered  them,  —  peace  they 
shall  have  no  longer.  God  shall  look  to  it ;  which  of  the 
two  shall  first  retire  from  the  struggle,  —  the  Pope  or  Lu 
ther  ! "  Five  hundred  such  expressions  might  be  cited.  On 
the  whole,  we  are  disposed  to  acquiesce  in  the  judgment  of 
Dr.  Waddington,  expressed  in  relation  to  the  last-mentioned 
work  of  the  Reformer.  "I  have  no  question,"  says  he, 
"  that  the  cause  of  Luther  was,  upon  the  whole,  advanced 
and  recommended  even  by  the  temerity  of  his  unsparing  in 
vective  ;  and  that,  had  he  given  less  offence  to  his  enemies, 
he  would  have  found  less  zeal,  less  courage,  and  far  less  de 
votion  in  his  friends."  * 

It  is  not  uninstructive  to  hear  Luther  in  some  of  his  letters 
defending  on  plan  the  vehemence  of  his  invective.  "  I  am 
determined,"  he  says  in  his  reply  to  King  Henry,  "  to  assume, 
day  by  day,  a  loftier  and  loftier  tone  against  these  senseless 
little  tyrants,  and  to  meet  their  madness  with  a  madness  like 
their  own."  "  I  suppress  many  things,"  he  writes  to  Spala 
tin  as  early  as  1519,  "  for  the  sake  of  the  Elector  and  the 
University,  which  I  would  otherwise  pour  out  against  Rome, 
—  that  destroyer  alike  of  Scripture  and  the  Church.  It  can 
not  be  that  the  truth  respecting  either  can  be  treated  without 
giving  offence  to  that  wild  beast.  Do  not  hope  that  I  shall 

*  History  of  the  Reformation,  Vol.  II.  p.  32. 


102 


keep  quiet  and  safe,  unless  you  wish  to  see  me  abandon  the 
ology  altogether.  Let  your  friends  think  me  mad  if  they 
will."  *  "  What  is  it  to  me,"  he  says  to  Spalatin  in  his 
account  of  the  Leipsic  disputation,  —  "what  is  it  to  me  if  I 
speak  rashly  and  offensively,  if  I  but  speak  truth,  and  that 

Catholic  truth  ? Why,  it  was  always  so  ;  truth  has 

ever  been  rash,  bitter,  seditious,  offensive What  is 

it  to  me  that  the  Thomists  are  offended  with  truth  ?  It  is 
sufficient  for  me  that  it  is  neither  heretical  nor  erroneous."  t 
"  I  knew,"  he  says  to  Spalatin  in  1522,  "  that  whatever  I 
might  write  against  the  King  of  England  would  offend  many, 
but  I  chose  to  do  it,  —  sed  ita  placuit  mihi,  —  and  many 
causes  rendered  it  necessary."  J  And  to  another  friend  (un 
known),  in  August  of  the  same  year,  he  says  :  "  My  gracious 
prince  and  many  other  friends  have  often  admonished  me  on 
this  subject ;  but  my  answer  is,  that  I  will  not  comply,  nor 
ought  I.  My  cause  is  not  a  cause  of  middle  measures  (ein 
mittelhandel),  in  which  one  may  concede  or  give  way,  even 
as  I,  like  a  fool,  have  hitherto  done."  §  Few  readers  of  Lu 
ther,  however,  will  think  there  was  much  reason  for  this  self- 
accusation. 

It  will  not  be  supposed  for  a  moment,  that  we  are  the  apol 
ogists  of  his  too  habitual  virulence  and  ferocity  of  invective. 
Not  even  the  spirit  of  the  age  can  form  an  apology  for  them  ; 
though  in  all  fairness  it  ought  to  be  remembered,  that  so 
completely  were  these  offensive  qualities  of  controversy  char 
acteristic  of  it,  that  then,  and  long  after,  they  were  exhibited 
by  men  who  had  neither  Luther's  vehement  passions  nor  his 
provocations  to  plead  in  extenuation ;  often  so  unconsciously, 
indeed,  that  the  refined  and  equable  Thomas  More  imitates 
and  transcends  the  Reformer's  coarseness,  even  while  he  re 
proves  it. 

But  whatever  the  defects  and  inequalities  of  Luther's  writ- 

*  De  Wette,  Vol  I.  p.  260.  t  Ibid.,  pp.  300, 301. 

t  Ibid.,  Vol.  II.  p.  244.  §  Ibid.,  p.  244. 


103 

ings,  there  is  one  quality  not  unsparingly  displayed,  which 
ought  to  have  protected  him  from  so  low  an  estimate  as  Mr. 
Hallam  seems  to  have  formed,  —  we  mean  his  eloquence ;  for 
which  he  was  famed  by  all  his  contemporaries,  which  he 
was  not  grudgingly  admitted  to  possess  even  by  his  enemies, 
and  which  still  lives  in  numberless  passages  of  his  writings 
to  justify  their  eulogiums.  Yet  Mr.  Hallam  says,  that,  in  his 
judgment,  Luther's  Latin  works  at  least  "  are  not  marked  by 
any  striking  ability,  and  still  less  by  any  impressive  elo 
quence."  Surely  he  must  have  been  thinking  only  of  the 
moderate  Latinity  when  he  used  the  last  expression ;  for  un 
questionably  the  soul  of  eloquence  is  often  there,  however 
rugged  the  form.  Far  more  justly  speaks  Frederic  Schlegel. 
"  Luther,"  says  he,  "  displays  a  most  original  eloquence, 
surpassed  by  few  names  that  occur  in  the  whole  history  of 
literature.  He  had,  indeed,  all  those  properties  which  render 
a  man  fit  to  be  a  revolutionary  orator."  If  this  be  so,  the 
intellect  of  Luther  must  be  regarded  as  one  of  the  rarest  phe 
nomena  which  appear  in  the  world  of  mind.  Such,  at  least, 
has  been  hitherto  the  uniform  judgment  of  criticism.  To 
possess  a  genius  for  consummate  eloquence  is  always  con 
sidered  to  imply  intellectual  excellence  of  the  highest  order ; 
and,  whether  we  consider  the  paucity  of  examples  of  such 
genius,  or  how  various,  how  exquisitely  balanced  and  adjusted, 
are  the  powers  which  must  equip  the  truly  great  orator,  we 
shall  see  no  reason  whatever  to  quarrel  with  this  judgment. 
So  peculiar  are  the  required  modifications  and  combinations 
of  intellect,  imagination,  and  passion,  that  it  may  be  pretty 
safely  averred  we  shall  as  soon  see  the  reproduction  of  an 
Aristotle  as  of  a  Demosthenes. 

All  the  prime  elements  of  this  species  of  mental  power, 
Luther  seems  to  have  possessed  in  perfection.  It  has  been 
admitted  that  he  had  not  a  mind  well  fitted  for  the  investigation 
of  abstract  truth  ;  but  he  had  what  was  to  him  of  more  im 
portance,  —  great  practical  sagacity,  and  vast  promptitude  and 
vigor  of  argument.  His  imagination,  though  as  little  solici- 


104        LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER. 

tous  about  the  abstractly  beautiful,  as  his  reason  about  the  ab 
stractly  speculative,  was  fertile  of  those  brief,  homely,  ener 
getic  images  which  are  most  effective  in  real  eloquence  ;  and 
in  intensity  and  vehemence  of  passion,  even  Demosthenes  was 
not  his  superior.  His  native  language  he  wrote  with  the  ut 
most  force  ;  and,  when  he  pleased,  no  one  could  express  him 
self  with  a  more  pregnant  brevity.  To  the  continuous  excel 
lence,  the  consummate  taste,  the  exquisite  finish,  the  minute 
graces,  of  him  who  "  fulmined  over  Greece,"  Luther,  it  is 
true,  had  no  pretensions, —  as  indeed  might  be  expected, 
considering  the  circumstances  and  the  age  in  which  his  intel 
lect  was  developed  ;  but  in  every  part  of  his  controversial 
works,  most  frequently  in  his  briefer  writings,  as  in  his  "  Ap 
peal  to  a  Future  Council,"  his  "  Babylonish  Captivity,"  his 
"  Appeal  to  the  German  Nobility,"  and  not  least  in  his  let 
ters,  occur  frequent  bursts  of  the  most  vivid  and  impassioned 
eloquence.  He  abounds  in  passages,  which,  even  at  this  dis 
tance  of  time,  make  our  hearts  throb  within  us  as  we  read 
them.  Such  is  that  expression  with  which  he  defied  the  sen 
tence  of  excommunication.  "  As  they  have  excommunicated 
me  in  defence  of  their  sacrilegious  heresy,  so  do  I  excom 
municate  them  on  behalf  of  the  holy  truth  of  God  ;  and  let 
Christ,  our  judge,  decide  whether  of  the  two  excommunica 
tions  has  the  greater  weight  with  him."  Such  is  that  memo 
rable  sentence  with  which  he  dropped  the  papal  bull  into  the 
flames,  and  which,  even  from  his  lips,  would,  a  few  years 
before,  have  thrilled  the  assembled  multitudes  with  horror. 
"  As  thou  hast  troubled  and  put  to  shame  the  Holy  One  of 
the  Lord,  so  be  thou  troubled  and  consumed  in  the  eternal 
fires  of  hell."  Such,  above  all,  is  that  noble  declaration 
with  which  he  concluded  his  defence  at  Worms.  "  Since 
your  Majesty  requires  of  me  a  simple  and  direct  answer,  I 
will  give  one,  and  it  is  this  :  —  I  cannot  submit  my  faith  either 
to  popes  or  councils,  since  it  is  clear  as  noonday  that  they 
have  often  erred,  and  even  opposed  one  another.  If,  then,  I 
am  not  confuted  by  Scripture,  or  by  cogent  reasons, I 


LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER.        105 

neither  can  nor  will  retract  any  thing  ;  for  it  cannot  be  right 
for  a  Christian  to  do  any  thing  against  his  conscience.  Here 
I  stand  ;  I  cannot  do  otherwise  ;  God  help  me  !  "  This  elo 
quence,  indeed,  is  transient ;  it  flashes  out,  like  the  lightning, 
for  an  instant,  and  again  withdraws  into  the  cloud.  But  it  is 
lightning  that  blasts  and  scathes  wherever  it  strikes. 

The  influence  which  Luther's  eloquence  exerted  over  his 
contemporaries  is  testified,  not  only  by  the  deference  with 
which  he  was  listened  to  by  those  who  were  predisposed  to 
applaud,  —  a  very  inadequate  criterion  of  merit,  —  but  by  the 
profound  attention  which  he  was  able  to  command,  even  from 
those  who  were  hostile  or  alienated.  This  was  seen,  not  only 
on  great  occasions,  as  at  Worms,  —  not  only  in  the  enthusi 
asm  with  which  he  had  imbued  a  whole  nation,  —  but  by  the 
success  with  which  he  performed  the  equally  difficult  task  of 
restraining  the  fanatical  excesses  of  some  of  his  own  followers. 
When,  under  the  leadership  of  the  acute  but  impetuous  Carl- 
stadt,  some  of  them  had  been  induced,  during  his  residence 
at  the  Wartburg,  to  outrun  Luther's  zeal,  and  to  do  what  he 
admitted  might  be  right  to  be  done,  but  in  a  wrong  spirit,  — 
with  violence  and  uncharitableness,  —  all  eyes  were  directed 
to  Luther  as  the  only  man  who  could  appease  the  tumult. 
Braving  all  personal  danger,  and  in  defiance  of  the  wishes  of 
the  Elector  himself,  he  descended  from  his  retreat,  and  all 
was  quiet  again.  For  many  successive  days  he  preached 
against  the  innovators,  though  without  mentioning  Carlstadt's 
name,  and  his  progress  was  one  continued  triumph.  It  is 
true,  that,  in  his  subsequent  visit  to  Orlamund,  he  had  not  the 
same  success  ;  but,  in  addition  to  his  being  in  the  wrong  on 
the  Sacramentarian  question,  Carlstadt  was  at  that  spot  regard 
ed  as  another  Luther. 

Of  the  briefer  compositions  of  Luther,  few  are  more  elo 
quent  than  the  letter  he  addressed  to  Frederic,  when  the 
Legate  Cajetan  wrote  to  urge  that  prince  to  abandon  the 
hated  monk  to  the  tender  mercies  of  Rome.  In  this  remark 
able  composition,  which  was  thrown  off  on  the  same  day  in 


106        LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER. 

which  he  received  the  legate's  letter,  he  assures  Frederic  that 
he  would  prefer  exile,  to  protection  at  the  peril  of  his  prince's 
safety.  The  nobility  of  mind,  the  magnanimity  it  displays, 
are  well  worthy  of  Luther  ;  but,  without  denying  them,  we 
cannot  but  think  that  the  whole  letter,  as  well  as  that  to  Spa- 
latin  on  the  same  occasion,  is  constructed  with  consummate 
skill ;  and  that,  while  resolving  on  that  course  which  his  own 
bold  and  lofty  spirit  prompted,  he  has  introduced  all  those 
topics  which  were  likely  either  to  move  the  sympathy  or 
alarm  the  pride  of  the  prince.  "  If  we  praise  his  magna 
nimity,"  says  Dr.  Waddington,  "  we  must  at  the  same  time 
admire  his  forethought  and  discretion."  The  very  pathos  is 
irresistible.  "  I  am  waiting  your  strictures,"  says  he  to  Spa- 
latin,  though  the  letter  was,  of  course,  intended  for  his '  mas 
ter's  eye,  "  on  the  answer  that  I  have  sent  to  the  legate's  let 
ter,  unless  you  think  it  unworthy  of  any  reply.  But  I  am 
looking  daily  for  the  anathemas  from  Rome,  and  setting  all 
things  in  order  ;  so  that,  when  they  arrive,  I  may  go  forth 
prepared  and  girded  like  Abraham,  ignorant  whither  I  shall 
go,  —  nay,  rather,  well  assured  whither,  —  for  God  is  every 
where."  * 

One  brief  passage  in  this  letter,  not  given  by  Waddington, 
and  sadly  mutilated  by  D'Aubigne,  seems  to  us  must  happily 
conceived  and  expressed.  Cajetan  had  urged  the  Elector  to 
give  up  the  monk,  but  contents  himself  with  simply  averring 
his  "  certain  knowledge  "  of  his  guilt.  Luther  thus  replies  : 
"  But  this  I  cannot  endure,  that  my  accuser  should  endeavor 
to  make  my  most  sagacious  and  prudent  sovereign  play  the 
part  of  another  Pilate.  When  the  Jews  brought  Christ  before 
that  ruler,  and  were  asked,  'What  accusation  they  preferred, 
and  what  evil  the  man  had  done  ? '  they  said,  '  If  he  had  not 
been  a  malefactor,  we  would  not  have  delivered  him  to  thee.' 
So  this  most  reverend  legate,  when  he  has  presented  brother 
Martin,  with  many  injurious  speeches,  and  the  prince  possibly 
asks,  fc  What  has  the  little  brother  done  ?  '  will  reply,  '  Trust 

*  De  Wette,  Vol.  I.  p.  188. 


LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER.        107 

me,  illustrious  prince,  T  speak  the  truth  from  certain  knowl 
edge,  and  not  from  opinion.'  /  will  answer  for  the  prince  : 
1  Let  me  know  this  certain  knowledge  ;  let  it  be  committed  to 
writing  ;  formed  into  letters :  and  when  this  is  done,  I  will 
send  brother  Martin  to  Rome,  or  rather  I  will  seize  and  slay 
him  myself;  then  I  will  consult  my  honor,  and  leave  not  a 
stain  upon  my  fair  fame.  But  as  long  as  that  "  certain 
knowledge  "  shuns  the  light,  and  appears  only  in  assertions, 

I  cannot  trust  myself  in  the  dark.' Thus 

would  I  answer  him,  illustrious  prince.  But  your  far-famed 
sagacity  needs  neither  instructor  n*r  prompter."  * 

Of  Cajetan,  during  the  negotiations  with  him,  he  writes  tc 
Carlstadt :  "  The  legate  will  not  permit  me  to  make  either 
a  public  or  private  defence.  His  wish,  so  he  says,  is  to  act 
the  part  of  a  father,  rather  than  of  a  judge  ;  and  yet  he  will 
listen  to  nothing  from  me  but  the  words,  '  I  recant  and  ac 
knowledge  my  error,'  —  and  these  words  will  I  never  utter. 

He  styles  me,  4  sein  lieben  SohnS I  know 

how  little  that  means.  Still,  I  doubt  not  I  should  be  most 
acceptable  and  beloved  if  I  would  but  speak  the  single  word 
revoco.  But  I  will  not  become  a  heretic  by  renouncing  the 
faith  which  has  made  me  a  Christian.  Sooner  would  I  be 
banished,  —  burnt,  —  excommunicated."  f  In  the  same  lofty 
spirit  of  faith  he  eloquently  exclaims,  in  a  passage  not  cited 
by  Waddington  or  D'Aubigne  :  "  Let  who  will  be  angry,  — 
of  an  impious  silence  will  not  I  be  found  guilty,  who  am  con 
scious  that  I  am  4  a  debtor  to  the  truth,'  howsoever  unworthy. 
Never  without  blood,  never  without  danger,  has  it  been  pos 
sible  to  assert  the  cause  of  Christ ;  but  as  he  died  for  us,  so, 
in  his  turn,  he  demands  that,  by  confession  of  his  name,  we 
should  die  for  him.  4  The  servant  is  not  greater  than  his 
Lord.'  'If  they  have  persecuted  me,'  he  himself  tells  us, 
4  they  will  also  persecute  you  ;  if  they  have  kept  my  saying, 
they  will  keep  yours  also.'  "  J 

*  De  Wette,  Vol.  I.  pp  183,  184.  t  Ibid.,  p.  161. 

J  Ibid.,  p.  33. 


108       LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER. 

Passages  such  as  these  are  constantly  occurring  in  Luther's 
letters  ;  and  if  they  contain  not  the  elements  of  eloquence, 
we  profess  that  we  are  yet  to  seek  the  meaning  of  the  term. 

And  even  if  Luther's  writings  were  less  fraught  with  the 
traces  of  a  vigorous  intellect  than  they  are,  there  are  two 
achievements  of  his,  the  like  of  which  were  never  performed 
except  where  there  was  great  genius.  First,  such  was  his 
mastery  over  his  native  language,  that,  under  his  plastic  hand 
and  all-subduing  energy,  it  ceased  to  be  a  rugged  and  barba 
rous  dialect,  almost  unfit  for  the  purposes  of  literature  ;  for 
which,  indeed,  he  may  be  said  to  have  created  it.  Secondly, 
he  achieved,  almost  single-handed,  the  translation  of  the  whole 
Scriptures ;  and  (whatever  the  faults  which  necessarily  arose 
from  the  defective  scholarship  of  the  age)  with  such  idiomatic 
strength  and  racy  energy,  that  his  version  has  ever  been  the 
object  of  universal  veneration,  and  is  unapproachable  by  any 
which  has  since  appeared.  The  enthusiasm  with  which  such 
a  man  as  Frederic  Schlegel  speaks  of  it,  shows  that,  in  the 
eye  of  those  who  are  most  capable  of  judging,  it  is  thought  to 
have  immense  merit. 

In  estimating  the  genius  of  Luther,  as  reflected  in  his  writ 
ings,  it  is  impossible  to  leave  wholly  out  of  consideration  their 
quantity,  the  rapidity  with  which  they  were  composed,  and 
the  harassing  duties  amidst  which  they  were  produced.  He 
died  at  the  no  very  advanced  age  of  sixty-two,  and  yet  his 
collected  works  amount  to  seven  folio  volumes.  His  corre 
spondence  alone  fills  five  bulky  octavos. 

When  we  reflect  that  these  works  were  not  the  productions 
of  retired  leisure,  but  composed  amidst  all  the  oppressive  du 
ties  and  incessant  interruptions  of  a  life  like  his,  we  pause 
aghast  at  the  energy  of  character  which  they  display ;  and 
wonder  that  that  busy  brain  and  ever-active  hand  could  sus 
tain  their  office  so  long.  Of  the  distracting  variety  and  com 
plication  of  his  engagements,  he  gives  us,  in  more  than  one 
of  his  letters,  an  amusing  account.  Their  very  contents, 
indeed,  bear  witness  to  them.  The  centre  and  mainspring  of 


LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER.        109 

the  whole  great  movement,  —  the  principal  counsellor  in 
great  emergencies,  —  the  referee  in  disputes  and  differences 
amongst  his  own  party,  —  solicited  for  advice  alike  by  princes, 
and  scholars,  and  pastors,  on  all  sorts  of  matters,  public  and 
private,  —  having  the  "  care  of  all  the  churches,"  and  beset 
at  the  same  time  by  a  host  of  inveterate  and  formidable  ad 
versaries,  —  the  wonder  is,  not  that  he  discharged  many  of 
his  duties  imperfectly,  but  that  he  could  find  time  to  discharge 
them  at  all.  Not  only  are  there  numberless  letters  on  all  the 
ordinary  themes  of  condolence  and  congratulation,  —  of  rec 
ommendation  on  behalf  of  poor  scholars  and  pastors,  —  of 
advice  to  distant  ministers  and  churches  in  matters  of  ecclesi 
astical  order  and  discipline ;  but  letters  sometimes  affording 
whimsical  proofs  of  the  triviality  of  the  occasions  on  which 
his  aid  was  sought,  and  the  patience  with  which  it  was  given. 
Now  he  replies  to  a  country  parson  who  wanted  to  know  how 
to  manage  the  exordium  and  peroration  of  his  sermons ;  now 
to  a  worthy  prior  to  tell  him  the  best  mode  of  keeping  his 
conventual  accounts,  —  that  he  may  know  precisely  how  much 
"  beer  "  and  "  wine  "  —  "  cerevisia  et  vinum  "  —  was  con 
sumed  in  the  Jwspitium  and  "  refectory  "  respectively  ;  *  now 
to  make  arrangements  for  the  wedding  festival  of  a  friend  ; 
now  to  plead  the  cause  of  a  maiden  of  Torgau,  whose  betrothed 
(no  less  than  the  Elector's  own  barber)  had  given  her  the 
slip.f 

The  very  style  of  the  letters  bears  evidence  to  the  pressure 
of  duty  under  which  they  were  written.  Most  of  the  shorter 
ones  are  expressed  with  a  brevity,  a  business-like  air,  which 
reminds  us  of  nothing  so  much  as  the  style  of  a  merchant's 
counting-house. 

Of  the  variety  of  his  engagements,  even  before  the  conflict 
of  his  life  commenced  (1516),  he  says  to  his  friend  John 
Lange  :  u  I  could  find  employment  almost  for  two  amanuen 
ses  ;  I  do  scarcely  any  thing  all  day  but  write  letters,  so  that  I 

*  De  Wette,  Vol.  I.  p.  23.  t  Ibid.,  Vol.  II.  p.  317. 

10 


110        LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND,  CHARACTER. 

know  not  whether  I  may  not  be  writing  what  I  have  already 
written  :  you  will  see.  I  am  conventual  preacher,  chaplain  t 
pastor,  and  parish  minister,  director  of  studies,  vicar  of  the 
priory,  that  is,  prior  eleven  times  over,  inspector  of  the  fish 
eries  at  Litzkau,  counsel  to  the  inns  of  Herzeberg  in  Torgau, 
lecturer  on  Paul,  and  expounder  of  the  Psalms."  At  a  later 
period  he  found  there  might  be  engagements  yet  heavier 
than  these.  In  excuse  of  an  absurd  blunder  in  translating  a 
Hebrew  word,  he  writes  (1521):  "I  was  distracted  and 
occupied,  as  often  happens,  with  various  thoughts.  I  am  one 
of  the  busiest  of  men  :  I  preach  twice  a  day ;  I  am  compil 
ing  a  psalter,  laboring  at  the  postils,  replying  to  my  adversa 
ries,  assailing  the  bull  both  in  Latin  and  German,  and  defend 
ing  myself,  to  say  nothing  of  writing  letters,"  &c.*  "  I 
would  have  written  to  both  our  friends,"  he  says  to  James 
Strauss  (1524),  "  but  it  is  incredible  with  what  business  I  am 
overwhelmed,  so  that  I  can  scarcely  get  through  my  let 
ters  alone.  The  whole  world  begins  to  press  me  down,  so 
that  I  could  even  long  to  die,  or  be  translated,  "  —  "  opto  vel 
mori  vel  tolli"  f 

These  last  two  passages,  not  cited  by  D'Aubigne  or  Wad- 
dington,  perhaps  better  illustrate  the  pressure  of  his  duties 
than  the  first,  which  they  both  have  given. 

When,  in  addition  to  all  this,  we  take  into  account  the 
promptitude  of  his  pen,  and  that  his  antagonists  seldom  had 
to  wait  long  for  an  answer,  we  cannot  be  surprised  that 
much  which  he  wrote  should  have  inadequately  represented 
his  mental  powers. 

Nor  is  mere  bulk  to  be  left  out  of  consideration  in  estimating 
the  vigor  of  his  intellect ;  for,  though  it  is  itself  no  criterion 
of  genius,  —  many  of  the  most  voluminous  writers  having 
been  amongst  the  worst  and  dullest,  —  yet  if  we  find  large 
fragments  of  such  writings  richly  veined  with  gold,  however 
impure  the  ore  in  which  it  is  discovered,  we  may  reasonably 

*  De  Wette,  Vol.  I.  p.  554.  I  Ibid. ,  Vol.  II.  p.  505. 


Ill 


infer,  that,  if  their  authors  had  written  less  and  with  more 
elaboration,  they  would  have  left  behind  them  far  more  splen 
did  monuments  of  their  genius  ;  and  thus,  in  the  estimate  of 
its  true  dimensions,  the  quantity  of  what  they  have  written 
becomes  an  essential  element.  This  consideration  ought,  in 
all  fairness,  to  be  applied,  not  only  to  Luther,  but  to  all  his 
great  contemporaries,  and  to  all  the  theologians  of  any  emi 
nence  in  the  succeeding  age.  They  wrote  with  far  too  great 
rapidity  and  frequency  to  do  themselves  full  justice.  The  gold 
of  genius  is  in  their  works,  but  spread  out  thin  ;  its  essence 
is  there,  but  undistilled  ;  in  the  shape  of  a  huge  pile  of  leaves, 
not  in  a  little  phial  of  liquid  perfume. 

None  can  be  more  deeply  convinced  that  the  hasty  and 
voluminous  writings  of  Luther  afforded  but  an  inadequate 
index  of  his  powers  than  was  Luther  himself.  This  is  evi 
dent  from  his  own  estimate  of  his  writings,  formed  at  the  close 
of  life,  and  expressed  in  the  general  preface  to  his  collected 
works.'  He  there  laments  the  hurry  in  which  they  had  often 
been  composed,  and  the  want  of  accuracy  and  method  which 
distinguishes  them.  He  even  speaks  of  them  in  terms  of 
unjust  depreciation,  and  declares,  no  doubt  in  sincerity,  but  in 
strange  ignorance  of  himself,  his  willingness  that  they  should 
be  consigned  to  oblivion,  and  other  and  better  works  which 
had  subsequently  appeared  substituted  in  their  place.  The 
following  are  sentences  from  this  memorable  preface  :  "  Mul- 
tum  diuque  restiti  illis  qui  meos  libros,  sen  verius  confusiones 
mearum  lucubrationum  voluerunt  editas,  turn  quod  nolui  anti- 
quorum  labores  meis  novitatibus  obrui,  et  lectorem  a  legend  is 
illis  impediri,  turn  quod  nunc,  Dei  gratia,  exstant  methodici 

libri  quam  plurimi His  rationibus  adductus,  cupiebam 

omnes  libros  meos  perpetua  oblivione  sepultos,  ut  melioribus 
esset  locus." 

But  whatever  the  merits  of  Luther's  writings,  it  has  been 
already  admitted  that  it  is  not  in  them  that  we  recognize  the 
cheif  evidences  of  the  power  and  compass  of  his  intellect. 
His  pretensions  to  be  considered  one  of  the  great  minds  of 


112        LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER. 

his  species,  are  more  truly,  as  well  as  more  wisely,  rested 
on  his  actions  ;  —  on  the  skill  and  conduct  which  he  displayed 
through  all  the  long  conflict  with  his  gigantic  adversary,  and 
the  ineffaceable  traces  which  he  left  of  himself  on  the  mind 
of  his  age,  and  on  that  of  all  succeeding  ages.  The  more  his 
position  at  various  periods  is  studied,  and  the  deeper  the  insight 
into  the  history  of  his  times,  the  more  obvious,  we  are  per 
suaded,  will  appear  his  practical  sagacity,  the  soundness  as 
well  as  promptitude  of  his  judgment,  the  wisdom  as  well  as 
boldness  of  his  measures.  It  will  be  seen,  too,  that  in  not  a 
few  instances  his  very  boldness  was  itself  wisdom. 

From  his  first  encounter  with  Tetzel,  and  the  appearance 
of  the  celebrated  Theses,  to  the  Diet  of  Worms,  and  his  ab 
duction  to  the  Wartburg,  his  history  is  perhaps  as  eventful 
as  that  of  any  man  has  ever  been  ;  and  it  is  impossible,  we 
think,  not  to  see  that  he  conducted  his  arduous  enterprise  with 
infinite  address,  as  well  as  energy.  Again  and  again  did  his 
formidable  enemy,  unfamiliar  with  defeat,  —  before  whom 
every  antagonist  had  for  ages  been  crushed,  —  exhaust  her 
power,  her  menaces,  her  flatteries,  her  arts,  in  vain.  For  the 
first  time,  her  famed  diplomacy,  her  proverbial  craft,  were  at 
fault ;  nuncios  and  legates  returned  bootless  to  their  papal 
master.  Cajetan,  and  Miltitz,  and  Eck,  and  Aleander  were 
all  foiled  at  their  own  weapons.  But  he  displayed  his  singu 
lar  sagacity  not  more  strongly  by  his  address  in  these  nego 
tiations,  and  in  the  fertile  expedients  by  which  he  frustrated 
or  parried  the  efforts  of  his  enemies,  than  in  his  quick  per 
ception  of  the  turning-points  of  the  great  controversy,  and 
the  judicious  positions  in  which  he  intrenched  himself  accord 
ingly. 

Let  us  be  permitted  to  remind  the  reader  of  a  few  instan 
ces.  Against  the  usurping  and  all-presuming  spirit  of  Rome, 
he  opposed  the  counter  principle  of  the  absolute  supremacy 
of  Scripture,  and  to  every  clamorous  demand  for  retraction 
replied  to  legates,  nuncios,  Diets,  alike,  "  Let  my  errors  be 
first  proved  by  that  authority."  Nothing  is  more  frequently 


LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER.        113 

iterated  by  him  than  this  maxim,  which  he  often  lays  down 
with  a  brief  energy  which  reminds  us  of  the  celebrated  sen 
tence  of  Chillingworth. 

Aware  that  this  principle  involved  another  equally  opposed 
to  the  jealous  policy  of  Rome,  he  foresaw  the  immense  im 
portance  to  his  cause  of  placing  the  Bible  in  every  body's 
hands  ;  and  promptly  providing  the  means  as  well  as  fore-* 
seeing  the  results,  he  toiled  day  and  night  till  he  had  un 
locked  for  the  people  the  treasures  of  Scripture  in  his  own 
rich  and  idiomatic  version.  If  he  did  not  always  consistently 
pursue  this  principle  to  its  extreme  limits,  and  practically 
assert  the  right  of  private  judgment,  yet  he  admitted  it  in 
theory.  Such  expressions  as  the  following  will  prove  this  : 
"The  right  of  inquiring  and  judging  concerning  matters 
of  faith  belongs  to  all  Christians,  and  to  each  ;  and  so  abso 
lutely,  that  cursed  be  he  who  would  abridge  this  right  by  a 
single  hair's  breadth."  * 

In  opposition  to  that  system  of  spiritual  barter,  which 
formed  the  essence  of  Romanism,  and  by  which  it  had  so 
deeply  degraded  the  Gospel,  he  arrayed,  sometimes  too  para 
doxically  it  is  true,  the  forgotten  doctrine  of  justification  by 
faith. 

Perceiving  that  the  dominion  of  Rome  was  founded  in 
ignorance,  and  that  his  constant  appeal  must  be  to  the  intelli 
gence  of  the  people,  he  labored  incessantly  to  promote  the 
interests  of  learning  and  the  diffusion  of  knowledge  ;  and 
did  much  by  his  enlightened  advocacy  to  give  the  Reforma 
tion  one  of  its  most  glorious  characteristics,  —  its  close  alli 
ance  with  scholarship  and  science. t  Deeply  disgusted  with 
that  scholastic  philosophy,  which,  without  being  perhaps  fully 
versed  in  it,  he  knew  to  be  a  main  pillar  of  the  Romish  sys- 


*  Cont.  Reg.  Anglise,  L.  Op.,  Vol.  II.  p.  532. 

t  This  is  fully  proved  by  citations  from  Luther's  writings  given  by 
D'Aubigne,  Vol.  III.  pp.  236  -  243.    Luther's  truly  enlarged  views  on 
this  subject  are  also  frequently  disclosed  in  his  correspondence. 
10* 


114        LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER. 

tern,  he  not  only  labored  to  supplant  it  by  a  Scriptural  the 
ology,  but  was  scarcely  less  anxious  than  Erasmus  himself 
that  polite  letters  should  be  substituted  in  its  stead.  An 
equally  decisive  example  of  his  sagacity  is  to  be  seen  in  the 
uniform  repudiation  of  physical  force,  as  fatal  to  his  cause  ; 
the  more  remarkable,  when  we  reflect  on  the  impetuosity  of 
his  own  character,  and  the  notions  of  that  age,  —  an  age 
when  violence  was  so  familiar,  and  almost  the  sole,  as  it  was 
the  most  welcome,  instrument  of  all  revolutions.  He  con 
sistently  asserted  the  moral  power  of  truth  throughout  his 
whole  career,  even  when  the  menaces  of  his  enemies  seemed 
to  justify  an  opposite  course,  and  when  the  indiscreet  zeal 
of  some  of  his  friends,  more  especially  Philip,  Landgrave  of 
Hesse,*  Sickingen,  and  Von  Hutten,  were  impatient  to  try 
sharper  weapons  than  those  of  argument.  In  January,  1521, 
(not  June,  as  stated  by  Dr.  Waddington,)  he  writes  to  Spala- 
tin :  "  You  see  what  Hutten  wants.  But  I  am  averse  to 
strive  for  the  Gospel  by  violence  and  bloodshed.  By  the 
word  of  God  was  the  world  subdued,  by  that  word  has  the 
Church  been  preserved,  and  by  that  word  shall  it  also  be 
repaired."!  "I  hear,"  he  writes  to  Melancthon  from  the 
Wartburg,  "  that  an  attack  has  been  made  at  Erfurdt  on  the 
house  of  the  priests.  I  wonder  that  the  senate  has  permitted 
or  connived  at  it,  and  that  Prior  Lange  has  been  silent.  For 
though  it  is  well  that  these  impious  adversaries  should  be 
restrained,  yet  the  mode  of  doing  it  must  bring  reproach  and  a 
just  defeat  upon  the  Gospel."  J  "  We  have  a  right  to  speak," 
he  firmly  admonished  the  rash  innovators,  who  had  begun 

*  If  Luther  had  as  strongly  resisted  every  other  erring  impulse  of 
this  impetuous  prince,  he  would  have  escaped  the  heaviest  imputation 
on  his  character.  But,  alas  !  the  document  in  which,  for  state,  reasons, 
Luther,  and  Melancthon,  and  Bucer,  and  others,  sanctioned  Philip  in 
bigamy,  —  dispensing,  in  his  case,  with  what  they  admitted  to  be  a  gen 
eral  law  of  Christian  morals,  —  remains ;  and  can  be  read  only  with 
grief  and  shame. 

t  De  Wette,  Vol.  I.  p.  543.  j  Ibid.,  Vol.  II.  pp.  7,  8. 


LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER.        115 

to  demolish  images  and  windows,  "  but  none  whatever  to 
compel.  Let  us  preach  ;  the  rest  belongs  to  God.  If  I  ap 
peal  to  force,  what  shall  I  gain  ?  Grimace,  forced  uniform 
ity,  and  hypocrisy.  But  there  will  be  no  hearty  sincerity, 
no  faith,  no  love.  Where  these  are  wanting,  all  are  want 
ing  ;  and  I  would  not  give  a  straw  for  such  a  victory." 

We  all  know  that  it  was  not  for  want  of  courage  that 
Luther  adopted  this  pacific  course.  The  fearlessness  with 
which  he  faced  the  plague  in  1516,  saying,  "The  world 
will  not  perish  because  brother  Martin  falls,"  followed  him 
through  life.  It  is  a  noble  trait  of  his  character,  that  on  the 
above  occasion  he  sent  the  students  away,  though  he  per 
sisted  in  not  quitting  his  post  himself ;  and,  on  a  subsequent 
occasion,  he  was  anxious  that  his  friend  Melancthon  should 
not  imitate  his  own  heroism.  "  Obsecro,"  he  writes  to  Spa- 
latin  (1521),  "  ne  Philippus  maneat,  si  pestis  irruat." 

Nor  was  his  sagacity  less  shown  in  much  of  the  by-play 
of  the  great  drama.  On  his  letter  to  Frederic,  and  the  skill 
with  which  he  pleaded  his  cause,  even  while  he  seemed  to 
abandon  it,  we  have  already  touched.  Let  us  take  another 
instance.  The  centre  of  a  stupendous  revolution,  surrounded 
by  enthusiastic  spirits,  an  enthusiast  himself,  it  is  astonishing 
how  free,  for  the  most  part,  he  kept  himself  and  his  follow 
ers  from  practical  fanaticism.*  When  Mark  Stubner  and 

*  We,  of  course,  do  not  mean  to  assert  that  Luther  was  always  thus 
personally  superior  to  spiritual  illusion.  His  reputed  encounters  with 
the  Devil  at  the  Wartburg  are  quite  sufficient  to  prove  this.  But  the  ex 
ample  of  Cromwell  and  many  others  may  teach  us  that  religious  enthu 
siasm,  or  even  fanaticism,  is  not  inconsistent  with  the  deepest  practical 
sagacity  and  the  wisest  conduct  of  affairs.  We  are  also  disposed  to 
think,  that  very  many  of  the  expressions  on  which  this  species  of  illu 
sion  has  been  charged  on  Luther,  are  but  strong  tropical  modes  of  rep 
resenting  those  internal  conflicts  of  which  every  Christian  is  sensible, 
hut  which  few  have  waged  with  so  intense  an  agony  as  himself,  'The 
incidents  at  the  Wartburg  cannot  be  thus  accounted  for.  But  none  will 
be  surprised  at  these  who  will  peruse  the  accounts  he  himself  gives  of 
his  health,  in  the  letters  written  from  that  place.  Deep  solitude,  un- 


116       LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER. 

his  associates  appeared  at  Wittemberg  with  their  confident 
claims  to  revelation,  during  Luther's  residence  at  the  Wart- 
burg,  even  Melancthon  wavered.  Luther  remained  firm  : 
he  adhered  to  his  great  principle  of  the  supremacy  of  the 
Scriptures,  disclaimed  all  new  revelations,  and  declared  that 
any  messenger  from  God  must  prove  his  commission  by  the 
only  credentials,  —  the  power  of  working  miracles.  He,  at 
the  same  time,  adhered  to  another  equally  sound  principle, 
and  declared  that  these  fanatics  ought  not  to  be  subjected  to 
persecution.  In  the  deplorable  "  war  of  the  peasants,"  we 
have  similar  proofs  of  his  penetration.  He  pleaded  for  a 
timely  redress  of  many  of  their  wrongs,  and  foretold  the 


wonted  diet,  prolonged  sleeplessness,  intense  anxiety,  had  evidently  pro 
duced  the  most  extensive  derangement  of  all  the  digestive  processes. 
The  distressing  "tinnitus  capitis"  of  which  he  complains,  as  well 
as  other  exquisitely  painful  symptoms  to  which  we  cannot  more 
particularly  advert,  show  the  condition  he  was  in.  No  physician  read 
ing  certain  sentences  (Vol.  II.  pp.  2,  6,  17,  22)  would  wonder  at  any 
fancies  in  which  Luther's  hypochondriacal  imagination  might  indulge  ; 
or  that  in  his  case  those  fancies  took  the  direction  of  his  habitual 
thoughts.  The  same  hypochondriacal  symptoms  often  appeared  subse 
quently  ;  and  they  are,  as  might  be  expected,  generally  associated  with 
religious  depression. 

On  the  subject  of  Luther's  spiritual  encounters  (as  well  as  on  some 
other  interesting  points  of  his  history),  we  beg  to  refer  the  reader  to 
some  remarks  in  an  article  in  this  journal  (Vol.  LXIX.  p.  273) ;  since 
claimed,  and  reprinted  with  others,  by  its  accomplished  author,  Sir  J. 
Stephen.  Had  that  admirable  essay  been  seen  when  this  was  composed 
(an  interval  of  seven  years  elapsed  between  the  appearance  of  the  two), 
it  is  probable  that  the  latter  would  never  have  seen  the  light.  On  com 
parison,  however,  it  will  be  found,  as  usually  happens  when  two  writers, 
however  inferior  one  may  be  to  the  other,  independently  meditate  the 
same  subject,  that  the  topics  selected  are  far  from  being  always  the 
same.  With  a  general  harmony  of  views,  the  points  principally  insisted 
upon  in  the  one  essay  are  not  those  which  are  |chiefly  treated  in  the 
other.  The  magnitude  of  the  theme  sufficiently  accounts  for  this ;  so 
spacious  and  rich  a  field  as  Luther's  genius  would  still  leave  enough  to 
fill  the  sheaf  of  a  humble  gleaner  like  myself,  even  after  the  sickle  of  so 
able  a  reaper  as  my  accomplished  friend  had  been  employed  upon  it. 


LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER.        117 

consequences  of  neglecting  them.  But  when  the  people 
commenced  their  horrid  excesses,  he  advocated  with  super 
fluous,  and  even  rabid  violence,  the  adoption  of  the  severest 
measures  of  chastisement.  Some  of  his  expressions,  indeed, 
are  perfectly  shocking ;  and  we  can  only  account  for  their 
vehemence  by  supposing,  that,  foreseeing  —  what  was  actu 
ally  the  case  —  that  the  popular  excesses  would  be  malig 
nantly  attributed  to  the  Reformation  itself,  he  was  determined 
to  anticipate  slander,  and  provide,  as  he  has  done  by  even 
an  ostentatious  opposition,  for  the  defence  of  himself  and  his 
adherents. 

The  same  singular  sagacity  is  seen  in  the  temperate  man 
ner  in  which  he  attempted  to  realize  the  results  of  the  Ref 
ormation,  and  to  reconstruct  the  edifice  he  had  demolished. 
He  was  no  violent  iconoclast,  —  no  wholesale  innovator  like 
Carlstadt.  But  we  need  say  nothing  on  this  head  ;  the  sub 
ject  has  been  beautifully  noticed  by  D'Aubigne  in  the  com 
mencement  of  his  third  volume  ;  where  he  shows,  that  the 
impression  that  Luther  was  a  rash,  headlong  revolutionist,  is 
altogether  erroneous. 

But  it  may  be  further  asserted,  that,  in  the  most  audacious 
actions  of  his  life,  that  very  audacity,  in  the  majority  of  in 
stances,  was  itself  wisdom.  Take,  for  example,  his  letter 
from  the  Wartburg  to  Albert,  Archbishop  of  Mayence,  com 
manding,  rather  than  beseeching,  him  not  to  revive  the  infa 
mous  Indulgences.  We  do  not  defend  the  taste  or  decency 
of  the  style  ;  but  the  result  proves  that  Luther  knew  his 
man.  It  was  followed  by  a  reply  as  deferential  as  if  the 
monk  had  been  the  archbishop,  and  the  archbishop  the  monk. 
It  was  on  this  occasion  that  he  used  some  most  remarkable 
expressions  to  Spalatin,  who  had  enjoined  silence,  and  who 
had  enforced  his  injunctions  by  those  of  Frederic.  "  I  have 
seldom  read  more  unwelcome  letters  than  your  last,"  he 
writes  ;  "  so  that  I  not  only  delayed  to  reply,  but  had  deter 
mined  not  to  reply  at  all.  I  will  not  bear  what  you  have 
said,  that  the  Prince  will  not  suffer  the  Archbishop  to  be 


118        LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER/ 

written  to,  and  that  the  public  peace  must  not  be  disturbed. 
I  will  rather  lose  you,  the  Prince,  and  every  creature  on 
earth.  If  I  have  resisted  the  Archbishop's  creator,  the  Pope, 
shall  I  succumb  to  the  Pope's  creature  ?  .  .  .  .  Non  sic, 
Spalatine  ;  non  sic,  Princeps I  am  resolved  not  to  lis 
ten  to  you  ;  fixum  est,  te  non  auditum  iri."  * 

In  like  manner,  his  "  Appeal  to  a  Future  Council,"  pre 
pared  while  awaiting  the  fulmination  of  the  bull,  but  surrep 
titiously  published  before  it  came  (as  Luther  expressly  af 
firms),  brought  thousands  to  his  standard  ;  and  still  more 
may  be  said  for  those  bold  and  unsparing  invectives  against 
the  abuses  of  Rome,  in  the  "  Babylonish  Captivity,"  and  in 
the  "  Address  to  the  German  Nobility."  It  may  be  similarly 
asserted,  that  no  measure  whatever  could  have  been  so  crit 
ically  well  timed  as  that  most  decisive  one  of  committing  the 
decretals  and  entire  pontifical  code  to  the  flames,  and  crown 
ing  the  hecatomb  with  the  formidable  bull  itself.  It  is  not 
only  one  of  the  most  striking  events  of  history,  and  exhibits 
the  chief  actor  in  an  attitude  truly  sublime,  but  was  a  most 
felicitous  and  politic  expedient.  It  is  curious,  however,  to 
hear  Luther  admitting,  in  his  correspondence,  that  even  his 
heart  sometimes  misgave  him  before  the  performance  of  that 
most  significant  act.  "  I  burnt  the  papal  books  and  the  bull," 
he  writes  to  Staupitz,  a  month  after,  "  with  trembling  and 
prayer  ;  but  I  am  now  better  pleased  with  that  act  than  with 
any  other  of  my  whole  life."  t 

The  same  wisdom  marked  the  courageous  obstinacy  with 
which,  in  spite  of  entreaties,  intimidations,  and  sickness,  he 
persisted  in  presenting  himself  at  the  Diet  of  Worms.  He 
alone,  of  all  his  party,  seemed  duly  to  appreciate  the  impor 
tance,  the  necessity,  of  that  act  to  the  safety  of  his  great 
enterprise.  At  that  critical  moment,  advance  as  well  as 
retreat  was  full  of  danger  ;  but  the  path  of  true  policy,  as 
well  as  of  true  magnanimity,  was  to  advance.  His  obstinacy 

*  De  Wette,  Vol.  II.  p.  94.  t  Ibid.,  Vol.  I.  p.  543. 


LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER.        119 

at  this  crisis  has  something  absolutely  sublime  about  it. 
While  his  enemies,  more  perspicacious  than  his  friends,  dis 
trusted,  and  at  last  dreaded  his  appearance,  employed  all 
sorts  of  machinations  to  deter  him,  and  plainly  hinted  that 
the  road  to  Worms  was  the  road  to  destruction,  —  while  his 
friends,  with  a  terrible  remembrance  of  the  fate  of  Huss,  to 
whom  even  the  Imperial  safe-conduct  had  been  no  protection, 
painted,  in  appalling  colors,  the  certain  martyrdom  to  which 
he  was  exposing  himself,  —  Luther  remained  inflexible.  The 
repeated  and  varied  forms  in  which  he  energetically  ex 
pressed  his  purpose,  showed  the  importance  he  attached  to 
the  act,  and  the  obstinacy  with  which  he  had  resolved  upon 
it.  Two  are  well  known  :  "  Should  they  light  a  fire  which 
should  blaze  as  high  as  heaven,  and  reach  from  Wittemberg 
to  Worms,  at  Worms  I  will  still  appear."  "  Though  there 
were  as  many  devils  in  Worms  as  there  are  tiles  on  the 
houses,  in  would  I  go,  —  noch  woll  ich  hinein."  But  his  let 
ters,  written  on  his  progress  thither,  abound  in  expressions 
of  the  same  inflexibility.  "  We  come,  my  Spalatin,"  he 

writes  from  Frankfort "  We  will  enter  Worms  in  spite 

of  all  the  gates  of  hell,  and  all  the  powers  of  the  air."  * 
"  Will  you  go  on  ?  "  said  the  Imperial  herald  to  him  at  Wei 
mar,  where  they  were  placarding  the  Imperial  edict  against 
him.  "  Twill,"  replied  Luther,  "  though  I  should  be  put  un 
der  interdict  in  every  town,  —  I  will  go  on." 

And  his  appearance  and  language  at  Worms  did  more  to 
promote  the  cause  of  the  Reformation  than  any  other  act, 
whether  of  preceding  or  succeeding  years.  He  himself,  as 
he  repeatedly  intimates  in  his  correspondence,  had  serious 
apprehensions  that  his  career  would  terminate  at  Worms, 
and  evidently  left  it  with  much  of  the  same  feeling  with  which 
a  man  might  find  that  he  had  got  safely  out  of  a  lion's  den. 
There  is  an  obvious  tone  of  hilarity  in  the  letters  dated  im 
mediately  after  his  departure  from  the  Diet,  which  contrasts 

*  De  Wette,  Vol.  I.  p.  587. 


120       LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER. 

oddly  enough  with  regrets  that  he  must  escape,  in  temporary 
concealment,  the  honors  of  martyrdom.  Witness  the  follow 
ing  to  Luke  Cranach,  the  painter,  in  which  he  ludicrously 
characterizes  the  proceedings  of  the  Diet  with  all  the  point, 
brevity,  and  sarcastic  energy,  which  he  could  so  well  assume : 
"  I  thought  that  his  Imperial  Majesty  would  have  summoned 
some  doctor,  or  some  fifty,  and  eloquently  confuted  the  monk. 
But  nothing  more  is  done  than  just  this :  '  Are  these  books 
thine  ?  '  4  Yes.'  '  Will  you  retract  them  or  not  ? '  *  No.' 
1  Then  get  about  your  business.'  So  heb  dich" 

During  the  sittings  of  the  celebrated  Diet  of  Augsburg 
(held  nearly  ten  years  after  that  of  Worms),  Luther,  it  is  well 
known,  was  persuaded  to  remain  at  Coburg,  whence  he  watched 
with  intense  and,  as  his  letters  at  this  period  so  often  tes 
tify,  impatient  interest,  the  proceedings  of  his  less  prompt 
and  perspicacious  colleagues.  On  this  occasion  he  showed 
his  thorough  knowledge  of  the  treacherous  and  crafty  policy, 
the  spirit  of  subtle  intrigue,  which  had  so  often  characterized 
Rome  ;  those  "  Italian  arts,"  —  Italitates  as  he  designates 
them,  when  speaking  so  many  years  before  of  the  feigned 
cordialities  of  the  Nuncio  Miltitz,  —  which  he  dreaded  for 
Melancthon  more  than  violence,  and  of  which  the  papal  diplo 
macy  was  never  more  prodigal  than  on  this  occasion.  While 
the  timid  Melancthon  was  "  cutting  and  contriving  "  to  per 
form  impossibilities,  to  find  a  common  measure  of  incommen- 
surables, —  "  sewing  new  cloth  upon  old  garments,  and  putting 
new  wine  into  old  bottles,"  —  striving  to  diminish  to  an  invis 
ible  line  the  interval  between  some  of  the  doctrines  of  his 
adversaries  and  his  own,  and  adopting  all  sorts  of  little  artifices 
and  convenient  ambiguities  of  expression,  to  show  the  harmo 
ny  of  doctrines  which  must  be  eternally  discordant,  —  Luther 
boldly  remonstrates  against  a  policy  so  ruinous  ;  assures  him 
that,  whatever  the  apparent  pliability  of  Rome,  nothing  but 
absolute  submission  would  satisfy  her  imperious  spirit ;  and 
that  the  true  policy- of  the  Reformers  was  what  it  had  ever 
been,  —  that  of  uncompromising  firmness.  In  the  most  en- 


LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER.        121 

ergetic  language,  he  denounces  the  vanity  of  all  projects  of 
verbal  compromise ;  refuses  all  participation  in  acts  which 
should  have  that  object ;  and  threatens  to  shiver  in  atoms  any 
league  by  which  Rome  and  Luther  should  be  bound  together. 
"  I  have  received  your  Apology,"  he  writes  to  Melancthon, 
"  and  wonder  what  you  mean  when  you  ask,  What  and  how 
much  should  be  conceded  to  the  Pope  ?  For  myself,  more 
than  enough  has  already  been  conceded  in  that  Apology ;  and 
if  they  refuse  that,  I  see  not  what  more  I  can  possibly  grant 
them."  *  And  shortly  after :  "  For  myself,  I  will  not  yield  a 
hair's  breadth,  or  suffer  any  thing  to  be  restored.  I  will 
rather  endure  every  extremity.  Let  the  Emperor  do  as  he 
will."  t  And  again,  two  days  after,  to  Spalatin  :  "  Hope  not 
for  agreement.  If  the  Emperor  will  publish  an  edict,  let  him. 
He  published  one  at  Worms  !  "  J  "  Should  it  come  to  pass," 
he  writes  to  the  same  friend  a  month  after,  "  that  you  concede 
any  thing  plainly  against  the  Gospel,  and  inclose  that  eagle 
in  a  vile  sack,  Luther  (never  doubt  it),  —  Luther  will  come, 
and,  in  a  magnificent  fashion,  set  the  noble  bird  free."  §  M. 
D'Aubigne's  work  has  not  yet  reached  this  period  ;  but  there 
are  no  letters  of  Luther  more  interesting  than  the  series  which 
relate  to  the  proceedings  of  this  memorable  Diet. 

With  such  talents  for  the  conduct  of  affairs,  we  need  not 
wonder  that  the  prudent  Frederic  so  often  sought  his  counsels  ; 
that  Melancthon  should  have  so  eulogized  his  sagacity  in  his 
funeral  panegyric  ;  or  that  Cajetan  should  have  wished  to  de 
cline  further  encounters  with  him.  "  I  will  have  nothing 
more  to  do  with  this  beast,  for  he  has  deep-set  eyes,  and  won 
derful  speculations  in  his  head." 

We  have  repeatedly  stated,  that  the  intellect  of  Luther  did 
not  particularly  fit  him  for  the  investigation  of  abstract  or 
speculative  truth  ;  but  in  all  matters  of  a  practical  nature, —  in 
all  that  concerned  the  management  of  affairs,  or  the  conduct 


De  Wette,  Vol.  IV.  p.  52.  t  Ibid.,  p.  88. 

Ibid.,  p.  92.  §  Ibid.,  p.  155. 

11 


122        LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER. 

of  life,  —  his  judgment  was  both  penetrating  and  profound. 
Hence,  while  nothing  can  be  more  flimsy  than  his  metaphys 
ics,  nothing  can  be  more  generally  sound  than  his  practical 
judgments.  Incapable  of  stating  truth  with  philosophical  pre 
cision,  or  laying  it  down  with  all  its  requisite  limitations,  he 
was  a  great  master  of  that  rough  moral  computation,  which 
contents  itself  for  practical  purposes  with  approximate  ac 
curacy.  This  was  especially  the  case  in  relation  to  that 
class  of  truths,  in  which  a  magnanimous  mind,  and  lofty  mor 
al  instincts,  anticipate  the  lagging  deductions  of  reason  ;  and 
which  are  better  understood  and  enforced  by  the  heart  than 
by  the  head.  His  writings  abound  in  weighty  and  solid  max 
ims,  in  which  both  the  data  and  the  demonstration  are  alike 
suppressed. 

To  great  sagacity,  Luther  also  added,  in  a  preeminent  de 
gree,  that  passionate  earnestness  of  character  which  leads  men 
not  only  to  hold  truth  tenaciously,  but*  to  take  every  means 
in  their  power  to  diffuse,  propagate,  and  realize  it ;  to  make 
it  victorious.  In  Luther,  no  doubt,  the  principal  spring  of  this 
impulse  was  depth  of  religious  conviction  ;  but  the  tendency 
itself  is  as  much  an  element  of  character  in  some  men,  as 
the  love  of  contemplation  is  in  others.  It  is  a  form  of  am 
bition, —  a  noble  one,  it  is  true,  —  the  ambition  of  intellectual 
dominion  ;  and  has  actuated  many  a  philosopher  who  flattered 
himself  that  he  was  single-eyed  in  his  pursuit  of  wisdom. 
This  warlike  and  polemic  spirit  is,  no  doubt,  often  most  in 
consistent  with  a  calm  and  cautious  survey  of  all  the  relations 
and  details  of  great  questions.  But  it  is  well  for  the  world 
that  there  are  some  who,  with  speculative  powers  at  least 
robust  enough  to  enable  them  to  seize  large  fragments  of  the 
truth,  are  immediately  impelled  to  communicate  it.  Partial 
truth  diffused  is  better  than  perfect  truth  suppressed,  —  bet 
ter  than  stark  ignorance  and  error,  —  better  than  that  condi 
tion  of  things  in  which  Luther  found  the  world. 

And  if  the  vehemence,  natural  to  such  minds,  sometimes 
precipitates  the  conclusions  of  reason,  or  substitutes  prejudices 


LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER.        123 

for  them,  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  it  will  be  long  before 
the  same  earnestness  and  zeal,  in  contending  for  truth,  will 
be  manifested  by  those  intellects  which  abstractedly  are  best 
qualified  to  investigate  it.  It  would,  doubtless,  be* very  beauti 
ful  to  see  the  tranquillity  of  the  philosopher  conjoined  with  the 
fire  of  the  advocate,  —  first,  intellect  without  passion,  and  then 
intellect  with  it.  But  it  is  a  condition  denied  to  us.  If  there  be 
great  energy  of  character,  the  processes  of  reason  will  often 
be  precipitated  or  disturbed  ;  if  there  be  the  coolness  and 
equanimity  of  temperament  which  these  require,  the  same 
qualities  wilj  unhappily  continue  to  operate  when  their  work 
is  completed.  The  philosopher  will  still  be  apt  to  vindicate 
his  character,  and  look  most  prbvokingly  philosophic  as  to 
whether  his  views  are  effectually  urged  on  mankind  or  not. 
Even  if  he  become  a  zealous  writer  on  their  behalf,  it  still 
requires  something  more  to  encounter  suffering  for  them  ; 
and  while  almost  every  religion  has  had  those  who  have  dared 
all  and  .endured  all  in  its  defence,  the  annals  of  science 
scarcely  present  us  with  the  name  of  a  single  authentic  mar 
tyr.  Philosophers  have  been  illustrious  benefactors  of  man 
kind  ;  but  it  requires  more  energy  of  passion,  and  a  sterner 
nature  than  generally  falls  to  their  lot,  to  ruffle  it  with  the 
world,  —  to  encounter  obloquy,  persecution,  and  death  in 
defence  of  truth.  Even  Galileo  was  but  too  ready  to  recant 
when  menaced  with  martyrdom,  and  to  set  the  sun,  which  he 
had  so  impiously  stopped,  on  his  great  diurnal  journey  again. 
It  is  true  that  he  is  said  to  have  relapsed  into  heresy  the  mo 
ment  after  he  had  recanted,  and  drolly  whispered,  "  But  the 
earth  does  move  though  !  "  Yet  while  the  profession  of  error 
was  uttered  aloud,  the  confession  of  truth  was  made  sotto  vo- 
ce.  As  Pascal  says  of  the  reservations  of  the  Jesuits,  C^est 
dire  la  verite  tout  bas,  et  un  mensonge  tout  haut. 

Nor  can  it  be  said  that  the  class  of  philosophers  have  in 
general  been  disposed  to  risk  more,  where  truth  has  been 
practical  and  better  calculated  to  influence  the  affections. 
The  ancient  philosophers  are  a  notorious  example  of  the  con- 


124       LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER. 

trary.  They  saw  and  scorned  the  puerilities  of  the  ancient 
systems  of  superstition,  but  without  vigorously  attempting  to 
destroy  them,  or  to  substitute  better  notions  in  their  place. 
It  was  sufficient  for  them  to  make  the  convenient  distinction 
between  the  exoteric  and  the  esoteric.  They  could  join  in 
the  popular  rites  with  gravity  of  face  and  laughter  in  their 
hearts,  and  worship  their  gods  and  sneer  at  them  at  the  same 
time. 

The  vehemence  of  Luther's  passions,  and  the  energy  of 
his  will,  formed  most  remarkable  features  of  his  character, 
—  as  much  so  assuredly  as  any  quality  of  his  intellect,  — 
and  enabled  him,  in  conjunction  with  that  lofty  confidence, 
that  heroic  faith,  which  seemed  to  take  for  literal  truth  the 
declaration,  "  What  things  soever  ye  desire,  when  ye  pray, 
believe  that  ye  receive  them,  and  ye  shall  have  them,"  — -  to 
effect  greater  things  than  were  probably  ever  effected  by  the 
same  qualities  before.  Not  only  the  pliant  Melancthon 
yielded  to  the  superior  decision  and  energy  of  his  nature,  — 
as  much,  at  least,  as  to  his  judgment,  —  but  princes  and 
nobles  often  yielded  to  it ;  and  as  to  the  common  people,  his 
confident  bearing  and  resolute  will  achieved  more  than  half 
his  victory  over  them.  In  many  instances,  he  seems  to  have 
made  his  way  solely  by  the  influence  of  an  all-conquering 
enthusiasm  and  an  inflexible  purpose.  His  faith  realized  its 
own  visions,  and  almost  literally  proved  itself  to  be  capable 
"  of  removing  mountains." 

On  comparatively  trivial  occasions,  and.  when  in  the  wrong 
(not  seldom  the  case),  this  intensity  of  passion,  and  inflexi 
bility  of  purpose,  must  have  made  him  no  very  pleasant  co 
adjutor.  Even  the  amiable  Melancthon  murmured  after  his 
death  at  the  severity  of  that  yoke,  which,  while  Luther  lived, 
he  bore  with  much-enduring  meekness.  We  wish,  for  Me- 
lancthon's  own  manhood,  he  had  either  murmured  earlier  or 
not  murmured  at  all.  But  in  a  great  crisis,  and  where  the 
Reformer  was  in  the  right,  the  qualities  of  mind  we  are  now 
considering  exhibit  him  in  aspects  full  of  grandeur.  His 


LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER.        125 

enthusiasm  is  heroic,  his  energy  of  will  sublime.  It  is  curious 
to  contrast  his  almost  childish  obstinacy  and  rabid  virulence, 
in  relation  to  Zwingle  and  the  Sacramentarians,  with  the 
dignity  of  his  deportment,  under  the  influence  of  similar  in 
flexibility  of  character,  before  and  at  the  Diet  of  Worms.  It 
was  with  him  as  with  many  powerful  minds,  —  great  occa 
sions  calmed  him  ;  the  energy  was  commensurate  to  the 
objects  which  called  it  forth ;  the  weight  upon  the  machine 
was  proportional  to  its  momentum  ;  and  slow  and  majestic 
movement  took  the  place  of  a  self-destroying  and  turbulent 
force. 

There  was  one  peculiarity  about  Luther,  of  which  we 
know  not  whether  it  most  illustrates  the  robustness  of  his 
intellect,  or  the  energy  of  his  will,  but  it  renders  his  character 
absolutely  unique.  We  mean  the  rapidity  and  comparative 
ease  with  which  he  triumphed  over  the  deepest  prejudices  of 
his  age  and  education;  —  Roman  Catholics  would  doubtless 
say,  over  his  happiest  prepossessions.  But  this  matters  not 
to  our  present  observation,  which  respects  the  singular  char 
acter  of  the  transformation,  not  its  nature  ;  though  Protes 
tants  have  pretty  well  made  up  their  minds,  that,  in  all  the 
great  principles  he  so  vigorously  extricated  and  so  boldly 
avowed,  he  showed  as  well  the  rectitude  as  the  force  of  his 
understanding  ;  —  in  his  advocacy,  for  example,  of  the  su 
premacy  of  the  Scriptures,  and  in  his  condemnation  (under 
the  guidance  of  that  principle)  of  indulgences,  of  the  monastic 
institute,  of  the  celibacy  of  the  clergy,  of  the  mass,  of  the 
usurpations  of  the  Pope.  The  spectacle  is  a  noble  one.  The 
maxims  and  the  institutes  which  he  denounced  with  so  much 
energy  and  confidence,  had  been  consecrated  by  universal 
veneration,  and  were  covered  by  the  "  awful  hoar  of  ages." 
The  prejudices  which  he  vanquished  had  been  instilled  into 
his  childhood,  and  they  were  retained  till  he  reached  man 
hood  ;  they  were  the  prejudices  of  all  his  contemporaries  ; 
they  held  dominion,  not  only  over  the  most  timid,  but  over  the 
most  powerful  intellects  ;  they  had  bound  even  "  kings  in 
11  * 


126       LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER. 

chains,  and  nobles  in  fetters  of  iron "  ;  and  almost  every 
attempt,  certainly  all  recent  attempts  to  demolish  them,  had 
been  crushed  by  a  despotism  which  united  the  utmost  degree 
of  craft  with  the  most  ruthless  employment  of  violence,  and 
was  the  most  compact  and  formidable  the  world  ever  saw. 
That  he  should  have  been  able  to  denude  himself  of  such 
prejudices,  boldly  to  avow  this  great  mental  revolution, 
and  give  utterance  to  a  series  of  novel  and  startling  dogmas 
in  opposition  to  them,  is  an  example  of  independence  and 
fearlessness  of  mind,  which  the  world  had  never  before  wit 
nessed. 

Our  wonder  is  still  further  increased,  when  we  reflect  that 
Luther  himself  was  originally  as  passionate  a  devotee  of  the 
system  he  renounced,  as  he  afterwards  became  of  that  for 
which  he  renounced  it.  Nor  could  he  have  been  otherwise. 
The  very  depth  and  sincerity  of  his  character  forbade  that 
he  should  hold  any  thing  lightly ;  and  whether  he  was  right 
or  wrong,  he  was  always  in  earnest.  While  he  was  a  Papist, 
he  was  a  blind  one  ;  like  Paul,  "  an  Hebrew  of  the  Hebrews  ; 
and,  as  touching  the  law,  a  Pharisee."  He  was  none  of  those 
half-infidel  ecclesiastics  who  abounded  at  Rome,  and  were 
the  natural  offspring  of  the  age  ;  men  who  saw  through  the 
superstition  which  they  yet  sanctioned,  and  conducted,  with 
edifying  solemnity  of  visage,  the  venerable  rites  at  which 
they  were  all  the  while  internally  chuckling.  He  himself 
tells  us  (1539):  "I  may  and  will  affirm  with  truth,  that  at 
the  present  time  there  is  no  Papist  so  conscientiously  and 
earnestly  a  Papist  as  I  once  was !  "  He  repeats  this  in 
various  forms  in  his  Letters. 

The  account  of  his  youthful  visit  to  Rome,  as  given  by 
himself,  confirms  this  statement.  The  profound  veneration 
with  which  he  approached  the  holy  city  ;  the  passionate  devo 
tion  with  which  he  visited  sacred  places  and  engaged  in  public 
rites ;  the  shock  and  revulsion  of  feeling  with  which  he  dis 
covered  that  others  were  not  so  much  in  earnest  as  himself, 
—  all  show  how  sincerely  he  was  then  attached  to  the  ancient 


LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER.        127 

system,  and  by  what  severe  struggles  his  spirit  must  have 
shaken  off  its  thraldom.  The  spectacle  of  this  mental  revo 
lution  is  rendered  still  more  imposing  by  the  comparative 
rapidity  with  which  it  was  effected.  In  1516,  Luther  was 
still  a  zealous  Papist;  in  October,  1517,  he  published  his 
Theses  against  Indulgences,  and  in  less  than  four  years  from 
that  date,  he  had  committed  himself  to  a  contest  with  Rome 
on  all  the  great  principles  of  the  Reformation.  How  rapidly 
those  principles  disclosed  themselves,  as  the  controversy  pro 
ceeded,  is  sufficiently  clear  from  the  examination  of  his  cor 
respondence.  In  a  letter  dated  December  2,  1518,  when 
expecting  banishment  by  Frederic,  he  says  to  Spalatin  :  "  If 
I  remain  here,  I  shall  be  without  freedom  of  speech  and 
writing  ;  if  I  go,  I  will  discharge  my  conscience,  and  pour 
out  my  life  for  Christ."  A  week  after,  he  says  :  "  I  shall 
yet  one  day  be  a  little  freer  against  these  Roman  hydras." 
Three  months  later,  he  writes  to  Lange :  "  Our  friend  Eck 
is  meditating  new  contests  against  me,  and  will  compel  me 
to  do  what  I  have  often  thought  of ;  that  is,  by  the  blessing 
of  Christ,  to  inveigh  more  seriously  against  these  monsters. 
For,  hitherto,  I  have  but  been  playing  and  trifling  in  this 
matter."  He  repeats  nearly  the  same  words,  a  fortnight  after, 
to  Scheurl :  "  I  have  often  said,  that  hitherto  I  have  been 
trifling ;  but  now  more  serious  assaults  are  to  be  directed 
against  the  Roman  pontiff  and  the  arrogance  of  his  minis 
ters."  In  Mai'ch,  1519,  he  made  this  memorable  confession : 
"  I  am  reading  the  pontifical  decretals,"  (for  the  Leipsic  dis 
putation,)  "  and  I  know  not  whether  the  Pope  is  Antichrist 
himself,  or  only  his  apostle."  In  February,  1520,  he  writes : 
"  I  have  scarcely  a  remaining  doubt  that  the  Pope  is  verily 

Antichrist, so  well  does  he  agree  with  him  in  his  life, 

his  acts,  his  words,  and  his  decrees."  On  the  10th  of  July, 
soon  after  the  appearance  of  the  bull  of  condemnation,  he 
says  to  Spalatin  :  "  For  me  the  die  is  cast,  — jacta  est  alea ; 
the  papal  wrath  and  papal  favor  are  alike  despised  by  me ; 
I  will  never  be  reconciled  to  them,  nor  communicate  with 


128   LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER. 

them  more.  Let  them  burn  my  writings.  I,  unless  I  am 
unable  to  get  a  little  fire  [doubtless  alluding  to  the  interdict], 
will  condemn  and  publicly  burn  the  whole  pontifical  code." 

Perhaps,  next  to  his  journey  to  Worms,  the  two  most  dar 
ing  acts  of  his  life  were  the  burning  the  papal  bull,  and  his 
marriage.  Of  the  former,  and  of  the  tremendous  defiance  it 
implied,  we  have  already  spoken.  But  the  latter  step  re 
quired  almost  equal  courage.  His  prejudices  in  relation  to 
his  monastic  vows,  as  is  seen  by  his  correspondence,  troubled 
him  as  much  as  any  he  had  to  vanquish.  Nor  had  he  van 
quished  them  fully  till  his  return  from  the  Wartburg.  When 
he  resolved  to  marry  (a  resolution  taken  suddenly  enough), 
one  of  his  prime  motives,  if  we  may  believe  himself,  was  to 
give  the  utmost  practical  efficiency  to  his  convictions,  and 
encourage  his  followers  in  a  conflict  with  a  most  powerful, 
because  most  distressing,  class  of  associations.  Supposing 
this  his  motive,  it  was  certainly  not  only  one  of  the  boldest, 
but  one  of  the  most  politic,  expedients  he  could  have  adopted. 
He  assures  us,  after  giving  other  reasons  for  the  step,  that 
one  was,  "  ut  confirmem/acZo  qua3  docui,  tarn  multos  invenio 
pusillanimes  in  tanta  luce  evangelii."  * 

That  this  was  his  principal  motive,  we  may  well  doubt ; 
with  passions  so  strong  as  his,  it  was  not  likely  to  be  more 
than  coordinate  with  others.  But  Jhat  it  was  a  very  real 
motive,  we  may  safely  conclude  :  he  was  now  past  the  hey 
day  of  passion,  —  was  forty-two  years  old,  —  had  lived  in 
the  most  blameless  celibacy,  and  had  at  first  predestined  his 
Catharine  for  another.  Never  did  the  cloister  close  upon  one 
who  was  better  qualified  to  appreciate  and  reciprocate  the 
felicities  of  domestic  life.  As  a  husband  and  a  father,  his 
character  is  full  of  tenderness  and  gentleness ;  nor  is  there 
any  part  of  his  correspondence  more  interesting  than  his 
letters  to  his  "  Kate,"  and  their  "  little  Johnny  "  ;  or  those  in 
which  he  alludes  to  his  fireside. 

*  De  Wette,  Vol.  III.  p.  13. 


LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER.        129 

The  clamors  of  his  adversaries  showed  how  bold  was  the 
step  on  which  he  had  ventured.  "Nothing  less  than  Anti 
christ,"  they  said,  "  could  be  the  fruit  of  the  union  of  a  monk 
and  a  nun."  The  taunt  well  justified  the  caustic  sarcasm  of 
Erasmus  :  "  That  there  must  already  have  been  many  Anti 
christs  if  that  was  the  sole  condition  of  their  appearance." 

Comparatively  rapid  as  was  Luther's  conquest  over  his  own 
prejudices,  the  revolution  still  required  much  time.  It  was  in 
perfect  analogy  with  similar  revolutions  in  other  minds.  It 
was  only  more  extensive  and  less  gradual.  Gradual  such  a 
change  must  ever  be,  from  the  limited  capacities  of  our 
nature,  and  its  law  of  progressive  development.  It  would  be 
not  less  absurd  to  suppose,  that,  when  he  first  protested 
against  Indulgences,  he  foresaw  the  results  of  that  contest, 
than  it  would  be  to  suppose  that  Cromwell  anticipated  his 
protectorate  at  the  time  of  the  battle  of  Newbury  ;  or  that 
Napoleon  had  already  predestined  himself  to  more  than  half 
the  thrones  of  Europe  when  he  entered  on  his  Italian  cam 
paigns.  As  with  them,  so  with  Luther  in  his  more  hallowed 
enterprise,  —  the  horizon  continually  widened  as  he  climbed 
the  hill.  Nor  was  it,  as  the  confessions  of  Luther  abundantly 
prove,  without  severe  struggles,  and  momentary  vacillations 
of  purpose,  that  he  pursued  his  arduous  way.  This  is  espe 
cially  seen  in  that  wavering  letter  to  the  Pope,  written  at  the 
suggestion  of  Miltitz,  in  which,  in  language  which  more  than 
approached  servility  and  adulation,  he  deprecated  the  anger 
of  Leo,  and  declared  that  nothing  was  further  from  his  pur 
pose  than  to  question  the  authority,  or  separate  from  the  com 
munion  of  Rome.  We  do  not  mean  to  affirm  that  Luther 
intended  to  deceive  his  enemies ;  such  a  course  was  foreign 
from  his  whole  nature,  and  opposed  to  his  ordinary  conduct. 
Yet  it  is  certain  that,  before  this  period,  he  had  intimated  his 
increasing  doubts  whether  the  Pope  was  not  Antichrist,  and 
his  convictions  that  the  war  with  Rome  was  but  just  com 
menced.  We  cannot  defend  the  servility  of  the  letter  at 
all ;  and  can  only  defend  its  honesty,  on  the  supposition  that 


130        LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER. 

it  was  written  in  one  of  those  moments  of  vacillation  to  which 
we  have  adverted ;  with  the  wish,  inspired  by  his  recent  con 
ferences  with  the  nuncio,  that  the  controversy  might  be 
amicably  set  at  rest,  and  with  his  mind  almost  exclusively 
bent  on  whatever  promised  such  an  issue.*  Marvellously 
rapid  as  was  the  revolution  in  his  mind  compared  with  what 
might  be  expected,  it  was  by  repeated  exorcisms,  and  terrible 
convulsions  of  spirit,  that  the  legion  of  demons  was  expelled. 
The  current  did  not  flow  all  one  way ;  it  was  the  flux  and 
reflux  of  a  strong  tide. 

The  very  honesty  of  purpose  and  love  of  truth  by  which 
he  was  unquestionably  actuated,  prevented  at  all  events  any 
artificial  obstacles  to  his  progress.  He  did  not  attempt,  as  so 
many  do,  to  reconcile  inconsistencies  and  harmonize  counter- 
declarations.  He  frankly  acknowledged  the  fallibility  of  his 
nature,  —  his  early  errors  and  imperfect  views.  To  every 
taunt  of  having  receded  from  any  position,  he  boldly  said,  in 
effect :  "  I  thought  so  once  ;  I  was  wrong.  I  think  so  no 
more.  I  appeal  from  Luther  in  ignorance,  to  Luther  well 
informed."  This  was  the  case  in  relation  to  the  memorable 
letter  to  which  we  have  just  referred.  "  I  am  truly  grieved," 
says  he,  "  that  I  did  make  such  serious  submissions  ;  but,  in 
truth,  I  then  held  respecting  popes  and  councils  just  what  is 

vulgarly  taught  us But  as  I  grew  in  knowledge,  I  grew 

in  courage  ;  and  in  truth  they  were  at  infinite  pains  to  unde 
ceive  me,  by  an  egregious  display  of  their  ignorance  and 
flagitiousness." 

One  of  the  most  striking  facts  in  the  correspondence  of 
Luther,  is  the  indication  it  affords  of  very  early  discontent 
with  the  prevailing  system  of  theology,  and  the  actual  con 
dition  of  the  Church.  It  is  evident  that  he  was  predestined  to 
be  a  great  reformer ;  that  the  germ  of  the  Reformation  ex 
isted  in  his  bosom  long  before  the  dispute  with  Tetzel ;  and 


*  Dr.  Waddington  has  given  an  exceedingly  fair  and  impartial  state 
ment  on  this  subject. 


LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER.        131 

that,  if  the  dispute  respecting  Indulgences  had  not  led  to  its 
development,  something  else  would.  Even  before  Tetzel's 
"  drum  "  was  heard  in  the  neighborhood  of  Wittemberg,  he 
speaks  with  absolute  loathing  of  the  scholastic  subtleties ;  ex 
presses  his  conviction  of  the  necessity  of  returning  to  a  Scrip 
tural  theology  ;  loudly  contends  for  that  doctrine  of  justifica 
tion  by  faith  which  he  afterwards  made  the  lever  of  the  Ref 
ormation  ;  and  expresses  an  abhorrence  of  Aristotle,  which 
might  more  justly  have  been  transferred  to  those  dreaming 
commentators  who  had  absurdly  exalted  a  heathen  philoso 
pher  into  an  oracle  of  the  Christian  Church.  Most  of  these 
passages  will  be  found  in  the  two  Histories  so  often  men 
tioned. 

It  has  often  been  matter  of  surprise,  that  the  great  contest 
of  the  Reformation  should  have  turned  upon  so  comparatively 
trivial  a  controversy  as  that  which  respected  the  Indulgences, 
—  a  point  which  was  soon  after  absolutely  forgotten.  But  it 
is  not  the  first  time  that  a  skirmish  of  outposts  has  led  to  a 
general  engagement.  It  may  be  added,  that,  insignificant  as 
that  one  point  may  at  first  sight  appear,  it  was  most  natural 
that  the  contest  should  begin  there.  And  though  the  tide  of 
battle  rolled  away  from  it,  partly  because  even  the  hardihood 
of  Rome  could  scarcely  dare  to  defend  such  a  post,  and  part 
ly  because  the  Reformers  ceased  to  think  of  it  in  those  more 
comprehensive  corruptions  which  formed  the  object  of  their 
general  assault,  (in  which,  indeed,  this  particular  abuse,  with 
many  others  like  it,  originated,)  it  was  not  only  the  most 
natural  point  at  which  the  conflict  should  begin,  but  it  was 
improbable  that  it  should  not  begin  there.  Habituated  as 
men's  minds  were  to  the  corruptions  of  the  Church,  steeped 
in  superstition  from  their  very  childhood,  it  could  only  be  by 
some  revolting  paradox  that  they  could  possibly  be  roused  to 
think,  examine,  and  remonstrate.  The  whole  enormous  ex 
pansion  of  the  papal  power  had  been  but  one  long  experi 
ment  on  the  patience  and  credulity  of  mankind.  Each  suc 
cessive  imposition  was,  it  is  true,  worse  than  that  which  had 


132.       LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER. 

preceded  it ;  but  when  once  it  had  fastened  itself  upon  men's 
minds,  and  they  had  grown  familiar  with  it,  there  was  no 
further  chance  of  awakening  them  from  their  apathy.  Some 
thing  further  was  needed,  and  a  still  more  prodigious  corrup 
tion  must  minister  the  hope  of  reformation.  Now  Indulgen 
ces,  as  proclaimed  in  the  gross  system  of  Tetzel,  and  of  other 
spiritual  quacks  like  him,  was  at  once  the  ultimate  and  con 
sistent  limit  of  that  huckstering  in  "  merits,"  to  which  almost 
all  the  other  corruptions  of  the  Church  had  been  more  plau 
sibly  subservient ;  and  formed  just  that  startling  exaggeration 
of  familiar  abuses  which  was  necessary  to  awaken  men's 
minds  to  reconsideration.  The  notion  of  selling  pardons  for 
sins,  wholesale  and  retail,  —  of  collecting  into  one  great  treas 
ury  the  superfluous  merits  of  the  saints,  and  of  doling  them 
out  by  the  pennyweight  at  prices  fixed  in  the  compound  ratio 
of  the  necessities  and  means  of  the  purchaser,  —  was  a  no 
tion  which,  however  monstrous,  however  calculated  to  awaken 
the  drowsy  consciences  of  mankind,  was  in  harmony  with  the 
specious  nonsense  of  works  of  supererogation,  and  the  doc 
trine  of  penance.  It  was  simply  the  substitution  of  the  more 
valuable  medium  of  solid  coin  for  mechanical  rites  of  devo 
tion,  tiresome  pilgrimages,  and  acts  of  austerity ;  of  golden 
chalices  or  silver  candlesticks  for  scourges  and  horse-hair 
shirts ;  and,  provided  it  implied  the  same  amount  of  self- 
denial,  what  did  it  matter  ?  The  former  plan  was  undeniably 
more  profitable  to  Holy  Church,  and  as  to  the  penitent,  few 
in  our  day  but  will  admit  that  either  plan  was  likely  to  be 
equally  efficacious.  The  substitution  of  the  merits  of  great 
saints  for  the  transgressions  of  great  sinners,  or  the  remission 
of  the  pains  of  purgatory,  might,  for  aught  we  can  see,  be  as 
reasonably  effected  by  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence,  as  by 
walking  twenty  miles  with  pebbles  in  one's  shoes. 

The  system  of  Indulgences,  therefore,  —  in  the  grosser 
form  in  which  such  men  as  Tetzel  proclaimed  it,  —  was  but 
the  dark  aphelion  of  the  eccentric  orbit  .in  which  the  Church 
of  Christ  had  wandered  ;  and  from  that  point  it  naturally  be- 


LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER.        133 

gan  to  retrace  its  path  to  the  "  fountain  itself  of  heavenly 
radiance." 

It  may  be  said,  perhaps,  that  the  system  of  Indulgences 
had  been  proclaimed,  under  one  modification  or  another,  for 
more  than  a  century  and  a  half  before  Tetzel  appeared,  with 
out  producing  any  remarkable  reaction.  We  answer,  first, 
that  they  had  seldom  or  never  been  proclaimed  in  so  disgust 
ing  and  offensive  a  form,  or  with  such  consummate  impu 
dence,  as  by  Tetzel ;  and  secondly,  that  the  reception  given 
even  to  the  more  cautious  and  limited  exhibitions  of  the  sys 
tem,  proves  the  truth  of  what  we  have  been  asserting ;  for  it 
was  always  on  this,  as  the  most  obvious  and  revolting  corrup 
tion,  that  the  earlier  reformers  and  satirists  of  the  Church 
most  bitterly  fastened.  The  moral  instincts  of  such  men,  in 
deed,  were  not  so  vitiated  as  to  render  them  insensible  to  the 
vices  and  profligacies  of  the  ecclesiastical  system  generally ; 
but  the  idea  of  bartering  the  justice  and  mercy  of  God  him 
self  for  gold,  naturally  seemed  the  quintessence  of  every 
other  corruption.  What,  indeed,  could  rouse  mankind,  if  the 
spectacle  of  the  ghostly  peddler  openly  trafficking  in  his 
parchment  wares  of  pardon  for  the  past,  and  indulgence  for 
the  future,  —  haggling  over  the  price  of  an  insult  to  God,  or 
a  wrong  to  man,  —  letting  out  crime  to  hire,  and  selling  the 
glories  of  heaven  as  a  cheap  pennyworth,  —  did  not  fill  them 
with  abhorrence  and  indignation  ?  The  contempt  with  which 
Chaucer's  Pilgrims  listen  to  the  impudent  offer  of  the  Par 
doner,  well  shows  the  feelings  which  such  outrages  on  all 
common  sense  and  every  moral  instinct  could  not  fail  to 
excite. 

So  gross  was  this  abuse,  that  even  the  most  bigoted  Papists 
—  Eck,  for  example  —  were  compelled  to  denounce  it ;  nor 
were  there  any  more  caustic  satirists  of  it  than  some  of 
themselves.  Witness  the  witty  comedy  of  Thomas  Hey- 
wood,  who,  though  a  Catholic,  hated  the  mendicant  friars  as 
heartily  as  any  of  his  Protestant  contemporaries.  But  no 
satire,  however  extravagant,  could  be  a  caricature  of  the  fol- 

12 


134         LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER. 

lies  and  knaveries  of  this  class  of  men.  One  of  the  wittiest 
sarcasms  of  the  play  is  but  a  translation  of  TetzePs  impudent 
assertion,  that  "  no  sooner  did  the  money  chink  in  the  box, 
than  the  souls  for  which  it  was  offered  flew  up  into  heaven." 

"  With  small  cost  and  without  any  pain, 
These  pardons  bring  them  to  heaven  plain  ; 
Give  me  but  a  penny  or  two-pence  ; 
And,  as  soon  as  the  soul  departeth  hence, 
In  half  an  hour,  or  three  quarters  at  most, 
The  soul  is  in  heaven  with  the  Holy  Ghost." 

And  we  doubt  not  that  that  most  humorous  chapter  in  the 
ancient  and  popular  satire  of  Howleglass,  in  which  that  wor 
thy  enacts  the  part  of  a  Franciscan  friar,  is  little  more  than  a 
literal  version  of  the  tricks  of  a  class  of  men,  of  whom, 
knave  as  he  was,  he  was  but  an  insufficient  representative.* 

But  though  it  was  natural  that  the  struggle  of  the  Refor 
mation  should  commence  with  Indulgences,  it  was  impossible 
that  it  should  end  there.  Luther  soon  quitted  the  narrow 
ground,  and  the  mean  antagonist,  of  his  first  conflicts,  and 
asserted  against  that  whole  system  of  spiritual  barter  and 
merit-mongering,  of  which  TetzePs  doctrine  was  but  an  ex 
treme  type,  his  counter  principle  of  the  perfect  gratuitous- 
ness  of  salvation,  —  of  "justification  by  faith  alone."  On 
his  mode  of  exhibiting  this  great  doctrine,  we  shall  now  offer 
a  very  few  remarks. 

With  that  pregnant  brevity  with  which  he  knew  so  well 
how  to  express  himself,  he  showed  his  sense  of  the  impor 
tance  of  this  doctrine,  and  its  commanding  position  in  the 
evangelical  system,  by  describing  it  as  Articulus  stantis  aut 
cadentis  ecclesice.  He  might  more  truly  have  called  it  so,  if 
he  had  always  duly  guarded  the  statement  of  it ;  if,  while 
repudiating  the  doctrine,  under  whatsoever  modification,  that 
the  tribunal  of  heaven  can  be  challenged,  or  its  rewards 

*  The  same  story  is  also  found,  with  certain  variations,  in  "Friar 
Gerund,"  and  other  fictions  of  the  like  class. 


LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER.         135 

achieved  in  virtue  of  deeds,  of  which  every  good  man  is  him 
self  the  first  to  acknowledge  the  manifold  imperfections,  — 
much  less  by  fantastical  devices  of  human  invention,  destitute 
of  all  moral  qualities,  —  he  had  uniformly  connected  his  doc 
trine  in  expression,  as  he  did  in  fact,  with  its  just  practical 
consequences.  This,  however,  he  did  not  do ;  and  we  are 
constrained  to  lament,  with  Mr.  Hallam,  the  very  frequent 
occurrence  of  exaggerated  expressions,  to  which  the  critic 
gives  the  name  of  Antinomian  paradoxes.  We  do  not  think, 
however,  that  even  here  Mr.  Hallam  has  quite  done  the  Re 
former  justice.  He  candidly  admits,  indeed,  that  Luther 
"  could  not  mean  to  give  any  encouragement  to  a  licentious 
disregard  of  moral  virtue";  "though,"  he  adds,  "in  the 
technical  language  of  his  theology,  he  might  deny  its  proper 
obligation."  *  More  truly,  in  our  judgment,  has  Jortin,  whose 
doctrinal  moderation  is  well  known,  represented  the  matter 
in  his  Life  of  Erasmus :  "  Luther's  favorite  doctrine  was  jus 
tification  by  faith  alone ;  but  we  must  do  him  the  justice  to 
observe,  that  he  perpetually  inculcated  the  necessity  of  good 
works.  According  to  him,  a  man  is  justified  only  by  faith ; 
but  he  cannot  be  justified  without  works  ;  and  where  those 
works  are  not  found,  there  is  assuredly  no  true  faith."  And 
Melancthon,  in  a  passage  cited  by  Mr.  Hallam  himself,  de 
clares  :  "  De  his  omnibus,"  (after  enumerating  with  other  doc 
trines  the  necessity  of  good  works,)  "  scio  re  ipsa  Lutherum 
sentire  eadem,  sed  ineruditi  qusedam  ejus  fopTiKurfpa  dicta, 
cum  non  videant  quo  pertineant,  nimium  amant."  Dr.  Wad- 
dington  truly  remarks,  that  not  even  the  strongest  passages  in 
Luther's  treatise,  "  De  Libertate  Christiana,"  prove  that  the 
author  would  deny  the  necessity  of  good  works  except  as  a 
means  of  justification  ;  as  a  ground,  in  fact,  of  saying  to  the 
Divine  Being,  "  You  must  reward  me,  —  for  I  am  entitled  to 
it."  In  proof  of  this,  Dr.  Waddington  cites  the  passage, "  Non 
liberi  sumus  profidem  Christi  ab  operibus,  sed  ab  opinionibus 

*  Introduction  to  the  Literature  of  Europe,  Vol.  I.  p.  416. 


136        LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER. 

operum,  i.  e.  a  stulta  prsesumptione  justificationis  per  opera 
quaesitee.  Fides  enim  conscientias  nostras  redimit,  rectificat, 
et  servat,  qua  cognoscimus  justitiam  esse  non  in  operibus, 
licet  opera  alesse  neque  possint  neque  debeant." 

Every  thing  obviously  depends  on  the  sense  in  which  Lu 
ther  "  would  deny  the  necessity  of  good  works."  While  he 
would  have  denied  that  any  man  can  challenge  "  the  free 
gift"  of  salvation  (Scripture  itself  calls  it  by  that  name)  as 
the  "  wages  "  of  good  works,  he  would  as  strenuously  have 
affirmed  that  good  works  form  the  only  real  evidence  and  the 
necessary  result  of  the  possession  of  that  "  faith  which  justi 
fies."  With  relation  to  the  influence  of  the  system  he  advo 
cated,  and  the  system  he  opposed,  on  practical  morality,  he 
would  have  said  that  the  principal  difference  was,  not  that  the 
former  dispensed  with  it,  but  that  it  appealed  mainly  to  totally 
different  principles  of  our  nature  for  its  production ;  to  the 
cheerful  impulses  of  gratitude  and  hope,  rather  than  to  the 
"  spirit  of  bondage  "  and  the  depressing  influence  of  fear. 
And  both  philosophy  and  fact  may  convince  us,  that  they  are 
certainly  not  the  least  powerful  impulses  of  the  two. 

But  whatever  Luther's  early  paradoxes  on  this  subject,  — 
of  which  we  are  by  no  means  the  apologists,  and  regret  that 
there  should  have  been  so  much  cause  for  censure,  —  his  later 
writings  afford  ample  proof  that  he  had  corrected  them.  When 
Agricola  had  adopted  and  justified  them  in  their  unlimited 
form,  and  pushed  them  to  their  theoretic  results,  with  a  reck 
lessness  which  perhaps  first  roused  Luther  to  take  alarm  at 
their  danger,  the  Reformer  instantly  assailed,  refuted,  and 
condemned  him,  and  succeeded  in  compelling  the  rash  theo 
logian  to  retract.  Several  deeply  interesting  documents  on 
this  subject  occur  in  the  Correspondence,*  which  fully  show 
that  the  faith  which  Luther  made  the  basis  of  his  theology  was 
that  of  which  the  only  appropriate  evidence  is  holiness,  and 
which  necessarily  creates  it. 

*  Vol.  V. 


LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER.        137 

Mr.  Hallam  admits  that  passages  inconsistent  with  the  ex 
treme  views  he  attributes  to  the  Reformer  may  be  adduced 
from  his  writings  ;  but  affirms,  "  that,  in  treating  of  an  author 
so  full  of  unlimited  propositions,  no  positive  proof  as  to  his 
tenets  can  be  refuted  by  the  production  of  inconsistent  pas 
sages."  But  the  question  is,  whether  these  inconsistent 
passages  ought  not  to  modify  those  which  establish  the  sup 
posed  "  positive  proof."  If  we  are  to  pause  at  the  unquali 
fied  reception  of  the  one  class  of  propositions,  we  may  well 
pause  also  before  the  like  reception  of  the  other.  If  two 
statements,  in  a  writer  "  much  given  to  unlimited  propo 
sitions,"  appear  inconsistent,  we  should  endeavor  to  make  the 
one  limit  the  other ;  and  even  if  they  are  absolutely  irrecon 
cilable,  we  are  hardly  justified  in  taking  either  as  the  exclu 
sive  exponent  of  the  writer's  views,  without  the  adjustment 
arising  from  a  collation  of  passages.  There  are  propositions 
of  Scripture  itself  which  may  be,  and  which  have  been,  as 
much  wrested  to  the  support  of  "  Antinomian  paradoxes,"  as 
almost  any  declarations  of  Luther  could  be. 

Such  a  candid  construction  of  Luther's  real  views  seems 
to  us  the  more  necessary,  precisely  because,  as  Mr.  Hallam 
justly  says,  he  is  so  "  full  of  unlimited  propositions."  It  is 
ever  the  characteristic  of  oratorical  genius  to  express  the  truths 
it  feels  with  an  energy  which  borders  on  paradox.  Anxious 
to  penetrate  and  exclusively  occupy  the  minds  of  others  with 
their  own  views  and  sentiments,  such  as  eminently  possess 
this  species  of  genius  are  seldom  solicitous  to  state  propositions 
with  the  due  limitations.  It  may  be  further  remarked,  that 
Luther's  abhorrence  of  prevailing  errors  naturally  increased 
this  tendency  ;  action  and  reaction,  as  usual,  were  equal ;  the 
liberated  pendulum  passed,  as  was  to  be  expected,  beyond  the 
centre  of  its  arc  of  oscillation.  This  we  believe  to  be  one 
principal  cause  of  the  many  really  objectionable  statements  of 
Luther  on  this  subject. 

Our  veneration  for  the  great  Reformer,  and  the  influence 
which  even  the  errors  of  such  a  writer  as  Mr.  Hallam  are  apt 
12  * 


138       LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND   CHARACTER. 

to  exercise,  must  be  our  apology  for  the  freedom  of  the  pre 
ceding  strictures.  The  work  containing  the  observations  upon 
which  we  have  felt  ourselves  constrained  thus  to  remark,  is 
one  for  which  all  intelligent  inquirers  must  always  be  largely 
indebted  to  its  author,  both  for  instruction  and  rational  delight. 

On  the  whole,  few  names  have  such  claims  on  the  gratitude 
of  mankind  as  that  of  Luther.  Even  Rome  owes  him  thanks  ; 
for  whatever  ameliorations  have  taken  place  in  her  system, 
have  been  owing  far  more  to  him  than  to  herself.  If  there 
are  any  two  facts  which  history  establishes,  it  is  the  desperate 
condition  of  the  Church  at  the  time  Luther  appeared,  and  the 
vanity  of  all  hopes  of  a  self-sought  and  voluntary  reformation. 
On  the  former  we  need  not  dwell,  —  for  none  now  deny  it ;  it 
appears  not  only  on  every  page  of  contemporary  history,  but 
in  all  forms  —  especially  the  more  popular — of  mediaeval 
literature.  Never  was  a  remark  more  just  than  that  of  Mr. 
Hallam,  that  the  greater  part  of  the  literature  of  the  Middle 
Ages  may  be  considered  as  artillery  levelled  against  the  clergy. 

Of  the  second  great  fact,  —  the  hopelessness  of  any  effec 
tive  internal  reform,  —  history  leaves  us  in  as  little  doubt. 
The  heart  itself  was  the  chief  seat  of  disease  ;  and  reforma 
tion  must  have  commenced  where  corruption  was  most  invet 
erate.  Nor  until  certain  long-forgotten  principles  should  be 
reclaimed,  and  the  Bible  and  its  truths  restored,  —  a  result 
necessarily  fatal  to  a  system  which  was  founded  on  their  per 
version,  and  which  was  safe  only  in  their  suppression,  —  could 
any  reformation  be  either  radical  or  permanent.  It  would  be 
as  nugatory  as  that  which  was  sometimes  directed  against 
subordinate  parts  of  the  system,  —  Monachism,  for  instance. 
Again  and  again  did  reformation  strive  to  purify  that  institute, 
and  as  often,  after  running  through  the  same  cycle  of  precisely 
similar  changes,  did  it  fall  into  the  same  corruptions.  Each 
new  order  commenced  with  the  profession,  often  with  the 
reality,  of  voluntary  poverty  and  superior  austerity,  and  ended, 
as  reputed  sanctity  brought  wealth  and  power,  in  all  the  con- 


LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER.        139 

catenated  vices  of  the  system.  The  reason  is  obvious ;  its 
principles  were  vicious,  and  hence  the  rapidity  and  uniform 
ity  of  the  decline,  —  one  of  the  most  remarkable  and  instruc 
tive  phenomena  of  ecclesiastical  history.  "  That  which  is 
crooked  cannot  be  made  straight " ;  and  if  man  will  attempt 
even  a  style  of  supposed  virtue  for  which  God  never  consti 
tuted  him,  he  will  meet  with  the  same  recompense  as  attends 
every  other  violation  of  the  Divine  laws. 

For  similar  reasons,  nothing  but  the  recovery  of  principles 
fatal  to  the  Papal  System  could  be  expected  to  effect  the 
Reformation ;  and  about  these  the  champions  of  that  system 
could  not  be  expected  to  busy  themselves.  A  usurper  will 
hardly  abdicate  his  own  throne,  however  wrongfully  gained. 

Any  reform  which  had  merely  touched  externals,  and  left 
the  essence  of  the  system  the  same,  would  have  been  useless ; 
the  Church  would  soon  have  fallen  back,  like  the  purified 
forms  of  monasticism,  into  its  ancient  corruptions.  Nor  was 
it  amongst  the  least  proofs  of  the  sagacity  of  Luther,  that  he 
so  early  perceived,  and  so  systematically  contended,  that  a 
reformation  of  doctrine  —  the  restoration  of  evangelic  truth  — 
was  essential  to  every  other  reform.  But  in  fact,  even  the 
most  moderate  reforms,  owing  to  the  corruption  of  Rome 
itself,  and  its  interest  in  their  maintenance,  were  all  but  hope 
less.  Often  did  the  Papal  Court  admit  its  own  delinquencies, 
and  as  often  evade  their  correction.  The  papal  concessions 
on  this  point  were  a  perpetual  source  of  triumph  to  Luther 
and  the  Reformers.  Even  when  a  pope  really  sought  some 
amendments,  he  found  it  impossible  to  resist  the  influences 
around  him.  Adrian,  the  successor  of  the  refined  and  luxu 
rious  Leo,  gave  infinite  disgust  by  the  severity  of  his  manners, 
and  his  sincere  desire  to  see  some  sort  of  reformation ;  and 
his  long  catalogue  of  abuses  which  he  wished  to  be  corrected, 
delivered  in  at  the  Diet  of  Nuremburg,  (and  inconsistently 
accompanied  with  loud  calls  for  the  violent  suppression  of 
the  Reformation,)  was  never  forgiven  by  his  own  adherents. 
"  The  Church,"  said  he,  "  stands  in  need  of  a  reformation, 


140       LUTHER'S  CORRESPONDENCE  AND  CHARACTER. 

but  we  must  take  one  step  at  a  time."  Luther  sarcastically 
remarked  :  "  The  Pope  advises  that  a  few  centuries  should 
be  permitted  to  intervene  between  the  first  and  second  step." 
Hence  we  may  see  the  comparative  futility  of  the  small, 
timeserving  expedients  of  Erasmus.  His  satire,  bitter  as  it 
was,  was  not  directed  against  the  heart  of  the  system,  —  he 
waged  war  only  with  the  Friars.  Not  that  we  undervalue 
his  labors  ;  as  a  pioneer  he  was  invaluable.  Nor,  if  we  ex 
cept  Luther,  Melancthon,  and  Zwingle,  do  we  know  any  man 
who  really  effected  so  much  for  the  cause  of  the  Reformation. 
The  labors  of  Luther  and  himself  terminated  in  one  result ; 
the  streams,  however  different,  flowed  at  last  in  one  channel :  — 

"  Ubi  Rhodanus  inges  amne  preerapido  fluit, 
Ararque  dubitans  quo  suos  fluctus  agat." 

Such  are  our  deliberate  views  of  the  character,  labors,  and 
triumphs  of  Luther.  We  have  been  the  more  copious  in  our 
account  of  them,  that  we  may  do  what  in  us  lies  to  honor  his 
memory,  at  a  period  when  there  is  a  large  party  of  degener 
ate  Protestants,  who,  not  content  with  denying  the  unspeak 
able  benefits  which  he  conferred  upon  mankind,  have  not 
hesitated  to  speak  of  him  with  contempt  and  contumely,  and 
in  some  cases  even  to  question  the  honesty  of  his  motives  and 
the  sincerity  of  his  religion  !  * 

*  "  Some  of  the  Oxford  men,"  says  Dr.  Arnold,  "  now  commonly  re 
vile  Lulher  as  a  bold,  bad  man ;  how  surely  they  would  have  reviled 
Paul ! "  —  Life  and  Correspondence,  Vol.  H.  p.  250. 


GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  PASCAL.* 


So  much  has  been  written  of  late  years  respecting  Pascal, 
and  so  much  that  is  worth  reading,  that  we  should  scarcely 
have  been  induced  to  make  him  the  subject  of  present  crit 
icism,  had  it  not  been  for  the  appearance  of  the  remarkable 
volumes  of  M.  Faugere. 

It  seems  strange  to  say,  that  the  most  popular  work  of  an 
author  who  has  been  dead  nearly  two  hundred  years,  and 
who  has  obtained  a  world-wide  reputation,  —  a  work  which 

*  "  Edinburgh  Review,"  January,  1847. 

1.  Des  Pens6es  de  Pascal.    Rapport  a  VAcademie  Franfaise  sur  la 
necessitd  d'une  nouvelle  edition  de  cet  ouvrage.    Par  M.  V.  COUSIN.    8vo. 
Paris.     1843. 

2.  Pensees,  Fragments,  et  Lettres  de  Blaise  Pascal:  publics  pour  la 
premiere  fois  conformement  aux  manuscrits  originaux,   en  grande  partie 
inedits.    Par  M.  PROSPER  FAUGERE.    2  vols.     8vo.    Paris.     1844. 

[This  essay  has  been  twice  translated  into  French.  The  greater  part 
of  it  first  appeared  in  the  "  Revue  Britannique,"  the  conductors  of  which 
have  conferred  a  similar  honor  on  several  others  contained  in  this  vol 
ume.  M.  Faugere,  the  editor  of  the  "  Pensees,"  having,  as  he  thought, 
and  not  unreasonably,  ground  for  complaint  at  the  omission  of  certain 
passages,  in  which  his  labors  had  been  applauded,  published  a  new  trans 
lation  of  the  whole.  As  far  as  the  author  is  able  to  judge,  it  is  an  ad 
mirable  specimen  of  skill  and  fidelity  in  the  very  difficult  operation  of 
intellectual  transfusion.  It  may  be  as  well  also  to  mention,  that,  since 
the  appearance  of  the  present  essay,  an  entirely  new  translation  of 
nearly  the  whole  of  Pascal's  writings  —  all,  in  fact,  except  his  strictly 
scientific  writings  —  has  been  published  by  G.  Pearce,  Esq.] 


142  GENIUS    AND    WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL. 

has  passed  through  numberless  editions,  and  been  translated 
into  most  European  languages,  —  has  never  been  published 
in  an  authentic  form  till  now.  Yet  this  is  strictly  true  of  the 
"  Pensees  "  of  Pascal. 

It  is  hardly  possible  to  convey  to  the  reader  a  just  idea  of 
the  merits  of  this  improved  edition,  or  the  circumstances 
which  led  to  it,  without  relating  some  of  the  more  important 
incidents  of  Pascal's  life.  A  formal  biography,  however,  it 
cannot  be  necessary  to  give  ;  for  who  has  not  read  some 
account  of  the  life  of  Blaise  Pascal  ?  It  will  be  sufficient 
briefly  to  advert  to  the  principal  facts  of  this  great  man's  his 
tory,  and  the  dates  of  their  occurrence. 

He  was  born  at  Clermont,  in  Auvergne,  in  the"  year  1623, 
and  died  in  the  year  1662,  at  the  early  age  of  thirty-nine. 
When  we  think  of  the  achievements  which  he  crowded  into 
that  brief  space,  and  which  have  made  his  name  famous  to 
all  generations,  we  may  well  exclaim  with  Corneille,  "  A 
peine  a-t-il  vecu,  quel  nom  il  a  laisse  !  " 

It  is  well  known  that  Pascal  exhibited  from  the  earliest 
childhood  the  most  precocious  proofs  of  inventive  genius, 
especially  in  the  department  of  mathematics.  Having,  if  we 
may  believe  the  universally  received  tradition,  been  pur 
posely  kept  in  ignorance  of  Geometry,  lest  his  propensity  in 
that  direction  should  interfere  with  the  prosecution  of  other 
branches  of  knowledge,  his  self-prompted  genius  discovered 
for  itself  the  elementary  truths  of  the  forbidden  science.  At 
twelve  years  of  age,  he  was  surprised  by  his  father  in  the 
act  of  demonstrating,  on  the  pavement  of  an  old  hall,  where 
he  used  to  play,  and  by  means  of  a  rude  diagram  traced  by 
a  piece  of  coal,  a  proposition  which  corresponded  to  the 
thirty-second  of  the  First  Book  of  Euclid.*  At  the  age  of 
sixteen,  he  composed  a  little  tractate  on  the  Conic  Sections, 
which  provoked  the  mingled  incredulity  and  admiration  of 


*  His  sister,  Madame  Perier,  has  left  an  interesting  and  circumstantial 
account  of  this  matter. 


GENIUS   AND   WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL.  143 

Descartes.  At  nineteen,  he  invented  his  celebrated  Arith 
metical  Machine  ;  and  at  the  age  of  six-and-twenty,  he  had 
composed  the  greater  part  of  his  mathematical  works,  and 
made  those  brilliant  experiments  in  Hydrostatics  and  Pneu 
matics  which  have  associated  his  name  with  those  of  Torri- 
celli  and  Boyle,  and  ranked  him  amongst  the  first  philoso 
phers  of  his  age.  Yet,  strange  to  say,  he  now  suddenly 
renounced  the  splendid  career  to  which  his  genius  so  un 
equivocally  invited  him,  and  abandoned  himself  to  totally 
different  studies.  This  was  principally  attributable  to  the 
strong  religious  impulse  imparted  to  his  mind  at  this  period, 
—  rendered  deeper  by  early  experience  in  the  school  of 
affliction.  From  the  age  of  eighteen,  he  was  a  perpetual 
sufferer.  In  1647,  when  only  in  his  twenty-fourth  year,  he 
was  attacked  by  paralysis.  His  ill  health  was  mainly,  if  not 
wholly,  occasioned  by  his  devotion  to  study  ;  and  of  him  it  is 
literally  true,  that  his  mind  consumed  his  body. 

So  complete  was  his  abandonment  of  science,  that  he 
never  returned  to  it  but  on  one  memorable  occasion,  and 
then  only  for  a  short  interval.  It  was  when  he  solved  the 
remarkable  problems  relating  to  the  curve  called  the  Cycloid. 
The  accounts  which  have  been  transmitted  to  us  by  his  sister, 
of  the  manner  in  which  these  investigations  were  suggested 
and  completed,  —  accounts  which  are  authenticated  by  a 
letter  of  his  own  to  Fermat,  —  strongly  impress  us  with  the 
vigor  and  brilliancy  of  his  genius.  We  are  assured  that, 
after  long  abandonment  of  mathematics,  his  attention  was 
directed  to  this  subject  by  a  casual  train  of  thought  suggested 
in  one  of  the  many  nights  which  pain^made  sleepless.  The 
thoughts  thus  suddenly  originated,  his  inventive  mind  rapidly 
pursued  to  all  the  brilliant  results  in  which  they  terminated  ; 
and  in  the  brief  space  of  eight  days  the  investigations  were 
completed.  Partly  in  compliance  with  the  fashion  of  the  age, 
and  partly  from  the  solicitation  of  his  friend  the  Duke  de 
Roannes,  he  concealed  for  a  time  the  discoveries  at  which 
he  had  arrived,  and  offered  the  problems  for  solution  to  all 


144  GENIUS   AND   WRITINGS    OF   PASCAL. 

the  mathematicians  of  Europe,  with  a  first  and  second  prize 
to  successful  candidates.  If  no  solution  were  offered  in  three 
months,  Pascal  promised  to  publish  his  own.  Several  were 
forwarded,  but  as  none,  in  the  estimation  of  the  judges,  com 
pletely  fulfilled  the  conditions  of  the  challenge,  Pascal  re 
deemed  his  pledge,  under  the  name  of  Amos  Dettonville,  — 
an  anagram  of  Louis  de  Montalte,  the  famous  name  under 
which  the  "  Provincial  Letters  "  had  appeared,  "this  was  in 
1658  -  9,  when  he  was  thirty-six  years  of  age. 

With  this  brief  exception,  Pascal  may  be  said  to  have 
practically  abandoned  science  from  the  age  of  twenty-six. 
Yet  he  did  not  at  once  become  a  religious  recluse.  For 
some  years  he  lived  a  cheerful,  and  even  gay,  though  never 
a  dissipated  life,  in  Paris,  in  the  centre  of  literary  and  polite 
society,  loved  and  admired  by  a  wide  circle  of  friends,  and 
especially  by  his  patron,  the  Duke  de  Roannes.  To  the 
accomplished  sister  of  this  nobleman,  M.  Faugere  conjec 
tures  (as  we  think  plausibly)  that  Pascal  was  secretly  at 
tached,  but,  from  timidity  and  humility,  "  never  told  his 
love." 

In  part,  probably,  from  the  melancholy  which  this  hopeless 
attachment  inspired,  but  certainly  much  more  in  consequence 
of  the  deeper  religious  convictions,  produced  by  a  memora 
ble  escape  from  an  appalling  death,  in  1654,  his  indifference 
to  the  world  increased  ;  and  he  at  length  sought  for  solitude 
at  Port  Royal,  already  endeared  to  him  by  the  residence 
there  of  his  sister  Jacqueline. 

Here,  it  is  well  known,  he  produced  his  immortal  "  Provin 
cial  Letters  ";  and,  wjien  death  cut  short  his  brief  career, 
was  meditating  an  extensive  work  on  the  fundamental  prin 
ciples  of  religion,  —  especially  on  the  existence  of  God  and 
the  evidences  of  Christianity,  —  for  the  completion  of  which 
he  required  "  ten  years  of  health  and  leisure."  An  outline 
of  the  work  had  been  sometimes  (and  on  one  occasion  some 
what  fully)  imparted  in  conversation  to  his  friends,  but  no 
part  of  it  was  ever  completed.  Nothing  was  found  after  his 


GENIUS   AND   WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL.  145 

death  but  detached  "  Thoughts  "  (interspersed  with  some  on 
other  subjects)  on  the  principal  topics  appropriate  to  such  a 
work.  They  were  the  stones  of  which  the  building  was  to  have 
consisted,  many  of  them  unhewn,  and  some  few  such  as  the 
builder,  had  he  lived,  would  no  doubt  have  laid  aside.  The 
form  in  which  the  Thoughts  were  put  together  comported  but 
too  well  with  their  fragmentary  character.  It  appears  that 
he  did  not  even  use  a  commonplace  book  ;  but  when,  after 
profound  meditation,  any  thought  struck  him  as  worth  record 
ing,  he  hastily  noted  it  on  any  scrap  of  paper  that  came  to 
hand,  often  on  the  backs  of  old  letters  ;  these  he  strung  to 
gether  on  a  file,  or  tied  up  in  bundles,  and  left  them  till  bet 
ter  health  and  untroubled  leisure  should  permit  him  to  evoke 
a  new  creation  out  of  this  chaos.  It  is  a  wonder,  therefore, 
that  the  "  Pensees  "  of  Pascal  have  come  down  to  us  at  all. 
Never,  surely,  was  so  precious  a  freight  committed  to  so 
crazy  a  bark.  The  Sibyl  herself  was  not  more  careless 
about  those  leaves,  rapidis  ludibria  ventis,  on  which  she  in 
scribed  her  prophetic  truths,  than  was  Pascal  about  those 
which  contained  the  results  of  his  meditations.  Of  these 
results,  however,  we  are  in  part  defrauded,  by  something  far 
worse  than  either  the  fragility  of  the  materials  on  which  they 
are  inscribed,  or  their  utter  want  of  arrangement.  Many  of 
the  "  Thoughts  "  are  themselves  only  half  developed  ;  others, 
as  given  us  in  the  literal  copy  of  M.  Faugere,  break  off  in 
the  middle  of  a  sentence,  even  of  a  word.  Some  casual  in 
terruption —  frequently,  no  doubt,  some  paroxysm  of  pain, 
to  which  the  great  author,  in  his  latter  years,  was  incessantly 
subject  —  broke  the  thread  of  thought,  and  left  the  web  im 
perfect  for  ever. 

It  is  humiliating  to  think  of  the  casualties  which,  possibly 
in  many  cases,  have  robbed  posterity  of  some  of  the  most 
precious  fruits  of  the  meditations  of  the  wise  ;  perhaps  arrest 
ed  trains  of  thought  which  would  have  expanded  into  bril 
liant  theories  of  grand  discoveries  ;  —  trains  which,  when  the 
genial  moment  of  inspiration  has  passed,  it  has  been  found 
13  - 


146  GENIUS   AND   WRITINGS   OF   PASCAL. 

impossible  to  recall ;  or  which,  if  recalled  up  to  the  point  at 
which  they  were  broken  off,  terminate  only  in  a  wall  of  rock, 
in  which  the  mountain  path,  which  had  been  before  so  clearly 
seen,  exists  no  longer.  It  is  humiliating  to  think  that  a  fit  of 
the  toothache,  or  a  twinge  of  the  gout,  might  have  thus  ar 
rested  —  no  more  to  return  —  the  opening  germ  of  conjec 
ture,  which  led  on  to  the  discovery  of  the  Differential  Calcu 
lus,  or  the  Theory  of  Gravitation.  The  condition  of  man,  in 
this  respect,  affords,  indeed,  one  striking  proof  of  that  com 
bined  "  greatness  and  misery  "  of  his  nature,  on  which  Pascal 
so  profoundly  meditated.  It  is  wonderful  that  a  being,  such 
as  he,  should  achieve  so  much  ;  it  is  humiliating  that  he  must 
depend  on  such  casualties  for  success.  On  the  precarious 
control  which  even  the  greatest  men  have  over  their  own 
minds,  Pascal  himself  justly  says  :  "  The  mind  of  this  sover 
eign  of  the  world  is  not  so  independent  as  not  to  be  discom 
posed  by  the  first  tintamarre  that  may  be  made  around  him. 
It  does  not  need  the  roar  of  artillery  to  hinder  him  from  think 
ing  ;  the  creaking  of  a  vane  or  a  pulley  will  answer  the  pur 
pose.  Be  not  surprised  that  he  reasons  ill  just  now ;  a  fly  is 
buzzing  in  his  ears,  —  it  is  amply  sufficient  to  render  him 
incapable  of  sound  deliberation.  If  you  wish  him  to  discover 
truth,  be  pleased  to  chase  away  that  insect  who  holds  his 
reason  in  check,  and  troubles  that  mighty  intellect  which 
governs  cities  and  kingdoms  !  Le  plaisant  dieu  que  voild  ! 
O  ridicolosissimo  eroe  !  "  * 

On  the  imperfect  sentences  and  half-written  words,  which 
are  now  printed  in  the  volumes  of  M.  Faugere,  we  look  with 
something  like  the  feelings  with  which  we  pore  on  some  half- 
defaced  inscription  on  an  ancient  monument,  —  with  a  strange 
commixture  of  curiosity  and  veneration ;  and,  whilst  we 
wonder  what  the  unfinished  sentences  may  mean,  we  mourn 


*  Faugere,  Tom.  II.  p.  54.  It  may  be  proper  to  observe,  that  all  our 
citations  from  the  "  Pensees "  are  from  this  new  and  solely  authentic 
edition. 


GENIUS    AND    WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL. 


147 


over  the  malicious  accident  which  has,  perhaps,  converted 
what  might  have  been  aphorisms  of  profoundest  importance 
into  a  series  of  incoherent  ciphers.  One  of  the  last  things, 
assuredly,  which  we  should  think  of  doing  with  such  frag 
ments,  would  be  to  attempt  to  alter  them  in  any  way  ;  least 
of  all,  to  supplement  them,  and  to  divine  and  publish  Pascal's 
meaning.  There  have  been  learned  men,  who  have  given 
us  supplements  to  the  lost  pieces  of  some  ancient  historians ; 
—  erudite  Freinsheimiuses,  who  hand  us  a  huge  bale  of  indif 
ferent  Latin,  and  beg  us  only  to  think  it  Livy's  lost  "  De 
cades."  But  what  man  would  venture  to  supplement  Pascal  ? 
Only  such,  it  may  be  supposed,  as  would  feel  no  scruple  in 
scouring  an  antique  medal,  or  a  worthy  successor  of  those 
monks  who  obliterated  manuscript  pieces  of  Cicero,  that  they 
might  inscribe  them  with  some  edifying  legend. 

Alas !  more  noted  people  than  these  were  scarcely  more 
scrupulous  in  the  case  of  Pascal.  His  friends  decided  that 
the  fragments  which  he  had  left  behind  him,  imperfect  as 
they  were,  were  far  too  valuable  to  be  consigned  to  oblivion ; 
and  so  far  all  the  world  will  agree  with  them.  If,  further, 
they  had  selected  whatever  appeared  in  any  degree  coherent, 
and  printed  these  verbatim  et  literatim,  in  the  best  order  they 
could  devise,  none  would  have  censured,  and  all  would  have 
thanked  them.  But  they  did  much  more  than  this ;  or  rather, 
they  did  both  much  more  and  much  less.  They  deemed  it 
not  sufficient  to  give  Pascal's  Remains  with  the  statement, 
that  they  were  but  fragments ;  that  many  of  the  thoughts 
were  very  imperfectly  developed  ;  that  none  of  them  had  had 
the  advantage  of  the  author's  revision,  —  apologies  with  which 
the  world  would  have  been  fully  satisfied  ;  but  they  ventured 
upon  mutilations  and  alterations  of  a  most  unwarrantable  de 
scription.  In  innumerable  instances,  they  changed  words 
and  phrases  ;  in  many  others,  they  left  out  whole  paragraphs, 
and  put  a  sentence  or  two  of  their  own  in  the  place  of  them  ; 
they  supplemented  what  they  deemed  imperfect  with  an  exor 
dium  or  conclusion,  without  any  indication  as  to  what  were 


148  GENIUS   AND    WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL. 

the  respective  ventures  in  this  rare  species  of  literary  copart- 
nery.  It  must  have  been  odd  to  see  this  committee  of  critics 
sitting  in  judgment  on  Pascal's  style,  and  deliberating  with 
what  alterations,  additions,  and  expurgations  it  would  be  safe 
to  permit  the  author  of  the  "  Provincial  Letters  "  to  appear 
in  public.  Arnauld,  Nicole,  and  the  Duke  de  Roannes  were 
certainly  no  ordinary  men ;  but  they  were  no  more  capable 
of  divining  the  thoughts  which  Pascal  had  not  expressed,  or 
of  improving  the  style  where  he  had  expressed  them,  than 
of  completing  a  sketch  of  Raphael. 

It  appears  that,  large  as  was  the  editorial  discretion  they 
assumed,  or  rather,  large  as  was  their  want  of  all  discretion, 
they  had  contemplated  an  enterprise  still  more  audacious, — 
nothing  less  than  that  of  completing  the  entire  work  which 
Pascal  had  projected,  partly  out  of  the  materials  he  had  left, 
and  partly  from  what  their  own  ingenuity  might  supply.  It 
even  appears  that  they  had  actually  commenced  this  heteror 
geneous  structure  ;  and  an  amusing  account  has  been  left  by 
M.  Perier,  both  of  the  progress  the  builders  of  this  Babel  had 
made,  and  of  the  reasons  for  abandoning  the  design.  "  At 
last,"  says  he,  "  it  was  resolved  to  reject  the  plan,  because  it 
was  felt  to  be  almost  impossible  thoroughly  to  enter  into  the 
thoughts  and  plan  of  the  author ;  and,  above  all,  of  an 
author  who  was  no  more ;  and  because  it  would  not  have 
been  the  work  of  M.  Pascal,  but  a  work  altogether  differ 
ent, —  un  ouvrage  tout  different!"  Very  different  indeed  ! 
If  this  naive  expression  had  been  intended  for  irony,  it  would 
have  been  almost  worthy  of  Pascal  himself. 

M.  Perier  also  tells  us,  that,  if  this  plan  had  but  been  prac 
ticable,  it  would  have  been  the  most  perfect  of  all ;  but  he 
candidly  adds,  il  etait  aussi  tres-difficile  de  la  Hen  executer. 
But  though  the  public  was  happily  spared  this  fabric  of -por 
phyry  and  common  brick,  it  will  not  be  supposed  by  any 
reader  of  M.  Cousin's  "  Rapport,"  or  of  M.  Faugere's  new 
edition  of  the  "  Pensees,"  that  Pascal's  editors  did  not  allow 
themselves  ample  license.  "  En  effet,"  says  the  former, 


GENIUS   AND    WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL.  149 

"  toutes  les  infidelites  qu'il  est  possible  de  concevoir,  s'y  ren- 

contrent,  —  omissions,  suppositions,  alterations." 

"  J'ai  donne  des  echantillons  nombreux  de  tous  les  genres 
d 'alterations,  —  alterations  de  mots,  alterations  de  tours,  al 
terations  de  phrases,  suppressions,  substitutions,  additions, 
compositions  arbitraires  et  absurdes,  tantot  d'un  paragraphe, 
tantot  d'un  chapitre  entier,  a  1'aide  de  phrases  et  de  para- 
graphes  etrangers  les  uns  aux  autres,  et,  qui  pis  est,  decom 
positions  plus  arbitraires  encore  et  vraiment  inconcevables  de 
chapitres  qui,  dans  le  manuscrit  de  Pascal,  se  presentaient 
parfaitement  lies  dans  toutes  leurs  parties  et  profondement 
travailles."  * 

Subsequent  editors  have  taken  similar  liberties,  if  not  so 
flagrant.  While  the  original  editors  left  out  many  passages 
from  fear  of  the  Jesuits,  Condorcet,  in  his  edition,  omitted 
many  of  the  most  devout  sentiments  and  expressions,  under 
the  influence  of  a  very  different  feeling.  Infidelity,  as  well 
as  superstition,  has  its  bigots,  who  would  be  well  pleased  to 
have  their  index  expurgatorius  also,  t  Unhappy  Pascal ! 
Between  his  old  editors  and  his  new,  he  seemed  to  be  in  the 
condition  of  the  persecuted  bigamist  in  the  fable,  whose  elder 
wife  would  have  robbed  him  of  all  his  black  hairs,  and  his 
younger  of  the  gray.  Under  such  opposite  editing,  it  is  hard 
to  say  what  might  not  have  disappeared  at  last. 

It  had  been  long  felt  that  no  thoroughly  trustworthy  edition 
of  Pascal's  "  Thoughts  "  had  yet  been  published  ;  that  none 
knew  what  was  precisely  his,  and  what  was  not.  M.  Cousin, 
in  the  valuable  work  from  which  we  have  just  quoted,  demon- 


*  Rapport,  Avant-Propos,  pp.  ii.,  ix. 

t  "  Condorcet,  par  un  prejug6  contraire,  supprima  les  passages  em- 

preints  d'un  sentiment  de  piete  ou  d'elevation  mystique Par 

exemple,  on  ne  retrouve  pas,  dans  1'edition  de  Condorcet,  ces  pages 
ravissantes  oil  Pascal,  penetrant  dans  les  plus  hautes  regions  du  spiritu- 
alisme  Chretien,  caracterise  la  grandeur  de  la  saintete  et  de  la  charite, 
comparee  &  la  grandeur  de  la  puissance  et  a  celle  de  1'esprit."  —  FAU- 
GERE,  Introduction,  pp.  xxviii.,  xxix. 
13* 


150  GENIUS   AND   WRITINGS    OF   PASCAL. 

strated  the  necessity  of  a  new  edition,  founded  upon  a  diligent 
collation  of  original  manuscripts.  This  task  M.  Faugere  has 
performed  with  incredible  industry  and  exactitude,  in  the  two 
volumes  mentioned  at  the  head  of  the  present  article.  We 
must  refer  the  reader  to  his  interesting  "  Introduction "  for 
the  proof  of  this  statement.  There  he  has  given  the  details 
of  his  editorial  labors.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  every  accessi 
ble  source  of  information  has  been  carefully  ransacked  ;  every 
fragment  of  manuscript,  whether  in  Pascal's  own  hand,  or  in 
that  of  members  of  his  family,  has  been  diligently  examined  ; 
and  every  page  offers  indications  of  minute  attention,  even  to 
the  most  trivial  verbal  differences.  Speaking  of  the  auto 
graph  MS.  preserved  in  the  Royal  Library  at  Paris,  a  folio, 
into  which  the  original  loose  leaves  are  pasted,  or,  when  writ 
ten  on  both  sides,  carefully  let  into  the  page,  —  encadres,  — 
he  says :  "  We  have  read,  or  rather  studied,  this  MS.  page 
by  page,  line  by  line,  syllable  by  syllable,  from  the  beginning 
to  the  end  ;  and,  with  the  exception  of  some  words  which  are 
illegible,  it  has  passed  entire  into  the  present  edition."  As 
the  public,  in  the  former  editions,  did  not  exactly  know  what 
was  Pascal's  and  what  was  not,  M.  Faugere  has  been  com 
pelled  to  do  what,  under  other  circumstances,  it  would  not 
have  been  desirable,  and  indeed  hardly  just,  to  do,  —  what, 
indeed,  any  author  of  reputation  would  vehemently  protest 
against  in  his  own  case.  He  has  been  obliged  to  give  every 
fragment,  however  imperfect,  literatim  et  verbatim.  The 
extracts,  as  we  have  said,  often  terminate  in  the  middle  of  a 
sentence,  sometimes  even  of  a  word.  As  M.  Vinet  has  just 
ly  observed  in  relation  to  this  feature  of  M.  Faugere's  labors, 
Pascal  himself  would  hardly  have  been  satisfied  "  with  either 
his  old  editors  or  the  new."  At  the  same  time,  it  must  be 
confessed,  that,  apart  from  this  circumstance,  it  is  deeply  in 
teresting  to  contemplate  the  first  rude  forms  of  profound  or 
brilliant  thought,  as  they  presented  themselves  to  the  ardent 
mind  of  Pascal.  This,  M.  Faugere  has  often  enabled  us  to 
do,  more  especially  in  the  singular  collection  of  the  rough 


\ 

GENIUS   AND   WRITINGS    OF   PASCAL.  151 

notes  for  the  "  Provincial  Letters."  *  It  is  like  looking  at  the 
first  sketch  of  a  great  painting  of  Raphael ;  or,  as  M.  Vinet 
observes,  "  we  are  taken  into  the  great  sculptor's  studio,  and 
behold  him  at  work,  chisel  in  hand." 

M.  Cousin,  we  should  think,  must  be  satisfied  with  the  ac 
curacy  and  completeness  of  this  edition  ;  and  also  of  the  in 
sufficiency  of  his  own  argument,  that  Pascal  was,  in  fact,  a 
"  universal  sceptic,"  who  embraced  the  truths  of  religion,  not 
as  a  hypocrite,  indeed,  but  in  the  exercise  of  a  blind  faith, — 
in  fact,  in  a  sort  of  paroxysm  of  despair ;  as  if  he  believed, 
that  what  he  had  proved  false  in  physics  was  still  true  in  mor 
als,  "that  nature  abhors  a  vacuum"  !  M.  Cousin,  in  part, 
founds  his  theory  on  the  fact,  that  the  first  editors  had  tamed 
down  some  of  the  more  startling  statements  of  Pascal,  and 
omitted  others  ;  and  seems  to  suppose  that  a  new  edition 
would  reveal  the  sceptic  in  his  full  dimensions.  He  must 
now,  we  should  think,  see  his  error.  There  is  little  or  noth 
ing  in  the  old  editions,  capable  of  proving  Pascal's  abiding 
conviction  of  the  sufficiency  of  the  evidence  for  the  funda 
mental  truths  of  religion,  or  the  divine  origin  of  Christianity, 
which  does  not  reappear  in  the  new,  and  with  much  new 
matter  to  confirm  it.  To  this  subject  we  shall  return,  after 
offering  some  observations  on  the  genius  and  character  of 
Pascal. 

In  one  respect,  his  genius  strongly  resembled  that  of  a 
recent  subject  of  our  criticism,  —  Leibnitz.  His  was  one  of 
the  rare  minds,  apparently  adapted,  almost  in  equal  measure, 
to  the  successful  pursuit  of  the  most  diverse  departments  of 
philosophy  and  science,  —  of  mathematics  and  physics,  —  of 
metaphysics  and  criticism.  Great  as  was  his  versatility,  it 
may  be  doubted  whether  in  that  respect  he  did  not  yield 
somewhat  to  Leibnitz,  as  also  in  his  powers  of  acquisition, 
and  most  assuredly  in  the  extent  of  his  knowledge.  It  is  not, 
however,  to  be  forgotten,  that  he  died  at  little  more  than  half 

*  Tom._I.  pp.  293-314. 


152  GENIUS    AND   WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL. 

the  age  of  the  veteran  philosopher  of  Germany ;  and  there 
can  be  no  doubt  that,  for  his  years,  his  attainments  were  very 
extensive.  Still  it  is  true,  that  that  perfectly  unique  charac 
teristic  of  Leibnitz,  —  his  equal  aptitude  and  appetite  for 
reading  and  thinking,  for  the  accumulation  of  knowledge  and 
for  original  speculation,  — could  never  have  been  in  the  same 
degree  a  characteristic  of  Pascal  ;  and  still  less  in  such  amaz 
ingly  diversified  directions.  Pascal  followed  in  this  respect 
the  predominant  law  of  all  very  inventive  minds.  He  was 
fonder  of  thought  than  of  books,  —  of  meditation  than  of  ac 
quisition.  Even  this  tendency  of  mind  manifested  itself 
within  a  more  restricted  sphere  ;  ample  enough,  it  is  true,  — 
that  of  philosophy  and  theology.  To  Leibnitz,  jurisprudence, 
history,  and  antiquities  were  nearly  as  familiar  as  these. 

But  if  the  character  of  Pascal's  genius  was  less  excursive 
than  that  of  Leibnitz,  and  the  literary  element  in  it  far  less 
active,  these  points  of  inferiority  were  amply  compensated 
by  a  superiority  in  other  qualities,  in  which  there  can  be  no 
comparison  between  them.  In  inventiveness,  they  may  per 
haps  have  been  equal,  —  but  even  here,  only  in  mathemat 
ics  ;  in  moral  science,  the  science  of  man,  we  know  of  noth 
ing  out  of  Bacon, —  who  may  be  said  to  set  all  comparison 
at  defiance,  —  certainly  nothing  in  Leibnitz,  that  will  bear 
comparison  in  depth,  subtlety,  and  comprehensiveness,  with 
some  of  the  "  Thoughts  "  of  Pascal.  But  in  another  char 
acteristic  of  true  genius,  —  and  which,  for  want  of  another 
name,  we  must  call  felicity, —  neither  Leibnitz,  nor,  it  might 
almost  be  affirmed,  any  one  else,  can,  in  the  full  import  of 
the  term,  be  compared  with  Pascal.  Endowed  with  original 
ity  the  most  active  and  various,  all  that  he  did  was  with  grace. 
Full  of  depth,  subtlety,  brilliancy,  both  his  thoughts  and  the 
manner  in  which  he  expresses  them  are  also  full  of  beauty. 
His  just  image  is  that  of  the  youthful  athlete  of  Greece,  in 
whom  was  seen  the  perfection  of  physical  beauty  and  physi 
cal  strength ;  in  whom  every  muscle  was  developed  within 
the  just  limits  calculated  to  secure  a  symmetrical  development 


GENIUS    AND   WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL.  153 

of  all ;  the  largest  possible  amount  of  power  and  flexibility 
in  union. 

In  all  the  manifestations  of  Pascal's  mind,  this  rare  felicity  is 
exuberantly  displayed  ;  — in  the  happy  methods  by  which  he 
lighted  on  truth  and  pursued  scientific  discovery  ;  in  the  se 
lection  and  arrangement  of  topics  in  all  his  compositions  ;  in 
the  peculiar  delicacy  of  his  wit,  —  so  strongly  contrasted 
with  all  the  ordinary  exhibitions  of  that  quality,  with  which 
his  coarse  age  was  familiar  ;  and,  above  all,  in  that  indescriba 
ble  elegance  of  expression  which  uniformly  characterizes  his 
finished  efforts,  and  often  his  most  negligent  utterances,  and 
which  even  time  can  do  nothing  to  impair.  Let  us  be  per 
mitted  to  say  a  word  or  two  further  on  these  topics. 

In  his  scientific  writings,  the  traces  of  this  felicity  may  be 
discerned  almost  equally  in  the  matter  and  the  form.  In  re 
lation  to  the  former,  there  is  probably  a  little  illusion  practised 
upon  us.  In  reading  his  uniformly  elegant  and  perspicuous 
exposition  of  his  own  scientific  discoveries,  we  are  apt  to  un 
derrate  the  toil  and  intellectual  struggles  by  which  he  achieved 
them.  We  know  that  they  were,  and  must  have  been,  attend 
ed  with  much  of  both, —  nay,  that  his  shattered  health  was 
the  penalty  of  the  intensity  of  his  studies.  Still,  it  is  hardly 
possible  to  read  his  expositions  without  having  the  impression 
that  his  discoveries  resembled  a  species  of  inspiration  ;  and 
that  his  mind  followed  out  the  first  germinant  thought  to  its 
consequences,  with  more  ease  and  rapidity  than  is  usually  ex 
emplified.  We  can  scarcely  imagine  it  would  have  been  neces 
sary  for  him  to  have  undergone  the  frightful  toils  of  Kepler, 
had  he  been  led  into  the  same  track  of  discoveries.  And,  in 
fact,  whatever  illusion  his  ease  and  elegance  of  manner  may 
produce,  we  know  that,  comparatively  speaking,  his  achieve 
ments  were  rapidly  completed.  It  was  so  with  the  problems 
on  the  Cycloid  ;  it  was  so  with  his  discoveries  in  Pneumatics 
and  Hydrostatics.  In  fact,  though  his  "  Traite  de  PEquilibre 
des  Liqueurs,"  and  the  one,  "  De  la  Pesanteur  de  PAir," 
were  not  composed  till  1653,  they  seem  to  have  been  only 


154  GENIUS    AND   WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL. 

another  form  of  the  treatise  he  promised  in  his  "  Nouvelles  Ex 
periences  touchant  le  Vide,"  published  in  1647,  and  of  which 
that  tract  was  avowedly  an  abridgment.  Indeed,  as  already 
said,  Pascal  had  nearly  quitted  these  investigations  before  the 
completion  of  his  twenty-sixth  year. 

There  was  no  scientific  subject  which  Pascal  touched,  in 
which  the  felicity  of  his  genius,  the  promptitude  and  bril 
liancy  of  his  mind,  did  not  shine  forth.  We  see  these 
qualities  eminently  displayed  in  his  "  Traite  du  Triangle 
Arithmetique," —  in  the  invention  and  construction  of  his 
Arithmetical  Machine,  —  in  the  mode  of  solving  the  problems 
respecting  the  Cycloid,  in  which,  while  employing  Cavalieri's 
"  Method  of  Indivisibles,"  he  proposes  to  remove  the  prin 
cipal  objection  which  had  been  made  to  it,  by  conceptions 
which  bring  him  within  a  step  of  the  Fluxions  of  Newton, 
and  the  Calculus  of  Leibnitz.  The  same  qualities  of  mind 
are  eminently  displayed  in  the  manner  in  which  he  establishes 
the  hydrostatic  paradox ;  and,  generally,  in  the  experiments 
detailed  in  the  "  Nouvelles  Experiences,"  and  the  other  con 
nected  pieces  ;  most  of  all,  in  that  celebrated  Crucial  experi 
ment  on  the  Puy-de-D6me,  by  which  he  decided  the  cause  of 
the  suspension  of  the  mercury  in  the  barometrical  tube.  As 
there  are  few  things  recorded  in  the  history  of  science  more 
happily  ingenious  than  the  conception  of  this  experiment,  so 
never  was  there  any  thing  more  pleasantly  naive  than  the 
manner  in  which  he  proposes  it,  in  his  letter  to  M.  Perier. 
"  You  doubtless  see,"  says  he,  "  that  this  experiment  is  deci 
sive  of  the  question ;  and  that  if  it  happen  that  the  mercury 
shall  stand  lower  at  the  top  than  at  the  bottom  of  the  moun 
tain  (as  I  have  many  reasons  for  thinking,  although  all  those 
who  have  meditated  on  this  subject  are  of  a  contrary  opin 
ion),  it  will  necessarily  follow,  that  the  weight  and  pressure 
of  the  air  are  the  sole  cause  of  this  suspension  of  the  mer 
cury,  and  not  the  horror  of  a  vacuum  ;  since  it  is  very  cer 
tain  that  there  is  much  more  air  to  press  at  the  base  than  on 
the  summit  of  the  mountain  ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  we 


GENIUS   AND   WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL.  155 

surely  cannot  say  that  nature  abhors  a  vacuum  more  at  the 
bottom  of  a  mountain  than  on  the  top  of  it !  "  * 

The  usual  felicity  of  his  style  is  seen  throughout  his  phil 
osophical,  as  well  as  his  other  works.  They  appear  to  us  to 
possess  the  highest  merit  which  can  belong  to  a  scientific 
composition.  It  is  true  that,  in  his  purely  mathematical  writ 
ings,  —  partly  from  the  defective  notation  of  his  age,  itself  a 
result  of  the  want  of  that  higher  Calculus,  the  invention  of 
which  was  reserved  for  Newton  and  Leibnitz,  —  he  is  often 
compelled  to  adopt  a  more  prolix  style  of  demonstration  than 
would  have  been  subsequently  necfessary  ;  but  even  here,  and 
still  more  in  all  the  fragments  which  relate  to  natural  phi 
losophy,  his  style  is  in  striking  contrast  with  the  clumsy  ex 
pression  of  the  generality  of  contemporary  writers.  His 
Fragments  abound  in  that  perspicuous  elegance  which  the 
French  denominate  by  the  expressive  word  nettete.  The 
arrangement  of  thought  and  the  turn  of  expression  are  alike 


*  Descartes  claimed  the  suggestion  of  this  brilliant  experiment.  All 
we  can  say  is,  that  Pascal,  who  was  the  very  soul  of  honor,  repeatedly 
declares,  that  he  had  meditated  this  experiment  from  the  very  time  he 
had  verified  Torricelli's,  and  only  waited  the  opportunity  of  performing 
it.  On  the  other  hand,  Descartes  was  jealous  of  the  discoveries  of 
others,  and,  as  Leibnitz  truly  observes,  slow  to  give  to  them  all  the  praise 
and  admiration  which  were  their  due.  With  all  his  great  powers,  he 
had  but  little  magnanimity.  It  is  possible  that  he  may  have  thought  of 
a  similar  experiment,  and  that  he  may  have  conferred  upon  the  subject 
with  Pascal ;  but,  if  the  latter  speaks  truth,  it  is  impossible  that  he 
should  not  already  have  determined  upon  it.  Indeed,  it  is  hardly  prob 
able  that,  had  it  been  originally  a  conception  of  Descartes,  he  would  not 
have  made  the  experiment  for  himself,  and  thus  gained  the  honor  undis 
puted  and  undivided.  —  Pascal  was,  in  like  manner,  accused  of  having 
appropriated  the  honor  of  Torricelli's  experiments.  Nothing  can  be 
more  perfectly  beautiful  than  the  manner  in  which  he  vindicates  his 
integrity  and  candor,  in  his  letter  to  M.  de  Ribeyre  on  this  subject.  He 
shows  triumphantly,  that,  in  his  original  "  Nouvelles  Experiences,"  he 
had  not  only  not  claimed,  but  had  most  distinctly  disclaimed,  all  credit 
for  the  experiments  in  question,  and  had  been  at  much  pains  to  give 
honor  where  honor  was  due. 


156  GENIUS   AND   WRITINGS    OF   PASCAL. 

beautiful.  Probably  no  one  ever  knew  so  well  when  to  stay 
his  hand. 

But  it  is,  of  course,  in  his  writings  on  moral  and  critical 
subjects  in  which  we  should  chiefly  expect  this  felicity  to 
appear  ;  and  here  we  may  well  say,  in  the  eloquent  language 
of  M.  Faugere,  it  is  a  "  style  grand  sans  exageration,  partout 
rempli  d'emotion  et  contenu,  vif  sans  turbulence,  personnel 
sans  pedanterie  et  sans  amour-propre,  superbe  et  modeste 
tout-ensemble"  ;  or,  as  he  elsewhere  expresses  it,  "  tellement 
identifie  avec  Tame  de  Pecrivain  qu'il  n'est  que  la  pensee 
elle-meme,  paree  de  sa  chaste  nudite  comme  une  statue 
antique."  By  the  confession  of  the  first  French  critics,  the 
"  Lettres  Provinciales  "  did  more  than  any  other  composition 
to  fix  the  French  language.  On  this  point,  the  suffrages  of 
all  the  most  competent  judges  —  of  Voltaire  and  Bossuet, 
D'Alembert  and  Condorcet  —  are  unanimous.  "  Not  a  sin 
gle  word  occurs,"  says  the  first,  "  partaking  of  that  vicissi 
tude  to  which  living  languages  are  so  subject.  Here,  then, 
we  may  fix  the  epoch  when  our  language  may  be  said  to 
have  assumed  a  settled  form."  "  The  French  language," 
says  D'Alembert,  "  was  very  far  from  being  formed,  as  we 
may  judge  by  the  greater  part  of  the  works  published  at  that 
time,  and  of  which  it  is  impossible  to  endure  the  reading. 
In  the  '  Provincial  Letters '  there  is  not  a  single  word  that 
has  become  obsolete  ;  and  that  book,  though  written  above  a 
century  ago,  seems  as  if  it  had  been  written  but  yesterday." 
And  as  these  Letters  were  the  first  model  of  French  prose, 
so  they  still  remain  the  objects  of  unqualified  admiration. 
The  writings  of  Pascal  have,  indeed,  a  paradoxical  destiny ; 
—  "  flourishing  in  immortal  youth,"  all  that  time  can  do  is  to 
superadd  to  the  charms  of  perpetual  beauty  the  veneration 
which  belongs  to  age.  His  style  cannot  grow  old. 

When  we  reflect  on  the  condition  of  the  language  when 
he  appeared,  this  is  truly  wonderful.  It  was  but  partially 
reclaimed  from  barbarism,  —  it  was  still  an  imperfect  instru 
ment  of  genius.  He  had  no  adequate  models,  he  was  to 


GENIUS    AND   WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL.  157 

create  them.  Thus  to  seize  a  language  in  its  rude  state, 
and  compel  it,  in  spite  of  its  hardness  and  intractability,  to 
become  a  malleable  material  of  thought,  is  the  exclusive  pre 
rogative  of  the  highest  species  of  minds :  nothing  but  the 
intense  fire  of  genius  can  fuse  these  heterogeneous  elements, 
and  mould  them  into  forms  of  beauty.  As  a  proof,  it  may 
be  remarked,  that  none  but  the  highest  genius  has  ever  been 
equal  to  this  task.  Genius  of  less  than  the  first  order  will 
often  make  improvements  in  the  existing  state  of  a  language, 
and  give  it  a  perceptible  impulse  ;  but  none  but  the  most 
creative  and  plastic  power  can  at  once  mould  a  rude  language 
into  forms  which  cannot  become  obsolete,  —  which  remain 
in  perpetuity  a  part  of  the  current  literature,  amidst  all  the 
changes  of  time  and  the  sudden  caprices  of  fashion.  Thus 
it  required  a  Luther  to  mould  the  harsh  German  into  the  lan 
guage  of  his  still  unrivalled  translation  of  the  Scriptures ;  in 
which,  and  in  his  vernacular  compositions,  he  first  fairly  re 
claimed  his  native  language  from  its  wild  state,  brought  it 
under  the  yoke,  and  subjected  it  to  the  purposes  of  literature. 
Pascal  was  in  a  similar  manner  the  creator  of  the  French. 
Yet  each  performed  his  task  in  a  mode  as  characteristic,  as 
the  materials  on  which  they  operated  were  different.  Energy 
was  the  predominant  quality  of  Luther's  genius ;  beauty,  of 
Pascal's.  The  rugged  German,  under  the  hand  of  Luther, 
is  compelled  to  yield  to  an  irresistible  application  of  force ; 
it  is  the  lightning  splitting  oak  and  granite.  The  French, 
under  that  of  Pascal,  assumes  forms  of  beauty  by  a  still  and 
noiseless  movement,  and  as  by  a  sort  of  enchantment ;  it  is 
"  the  west  wind  ungirding  the  bosom  of  the  earth,  and  calling 
forth  bud  and  flower  at  its  bidding." 

It  may  be  thought  strange  by  some,  that  this  complete  mas 
tery  of  an  unformed  language  should  be  represented,  not 
only  as  so  signal  a  triumph,  but  as  an  index  of  the  highest 
genius.  But  it  will  not  appear  unphilosophical  to  those  who 
duly  consider  the  subject.  If,  even  when  language  has 
reached  its  full  development,  we  never  see  the  full  capacities 

14 


158  GENIUS   AND   WHITINGS    OF   PASCAL. 

of  this  delicate  instrument  put  forth  except  by  great  genius, 
how  can  we  expect  it  when  the  language  is  still  imperfect  ? 
As  used  in  this  rude  state,  language  resembles  the  harsh 
music  of  the  Alpine  horn,  blown  by  the  rude  Swiss  herd- 
boy  :  it  is  only  when  the  lofty  peaks  around  take  it  up,  that  it 
is  transmuted  by  their  echoes  into  exquisite  melody. 

The  severely  pure  and  simple  taste  which  reigns  in  Pas 
cal's  style  seems,  when  we  reflect  on  those  vices  which  more 
or  less  infected  universal  letters,  little  less  than  a  miraculous 
felicity.  One  wonders  by  what  privilege  it  was  that  he  freed 
himself  from  the  contagion  of  universal  example,  and  rose 
so  superior  to  his  age.  Taste  was  yet  almost  unfelt ;  each 
writer  affected  extravagance  of  some  kind  or  other;  —  strained 
metaphor,  quaint  conceits,  far-fetched  turns  of  thought,  un 
natural  constructions.  These  were  the  vices  of  the  day  ;  not 
so  much  perhaps  in  France  as  in  England,  but  to  a  great 
extent  in  both.  From  all  these  blemishes  Pascal's  style  is 
perfectly  free ;  he  anticipated  all  criticism,  and  became  a 
law  to  himself.  Some  of  his  observations,  however,  show 
that  his  taste  was  no  mere  instinct ;  they  indicate  how  deeply 
he  had  revolved  the  true  principles  of  composition.  His 
"  thoughts  "  "  sur  1'Eloquence  et  le  Style  "  *  are  well  worth 
the  perusal  of  every  writer  and  speaker.  In  one  of  them  he 
profoundly  says  :  "  The  very  same  sense  is  materially  affect 
ed  by  the  words  that  convey  it.  The  sense  receives  its  dig 
nity  from  the  words,  rather  than  imparts  it  to  them."  In 
another,  he  says :  "  All  the  false  beauties  that  we  condemn 
in  Cicero  have  their  admirers  in  crowds."  And,  in  a  third, 
he  admirably  depicts  the  prevailing  vice  of  strained  antitheses. 
"  Those,"  says  he,  "  who  frame  antitheses  by  forcing  the 
sense,  are  like  men  who  make  false  windows  for  the  sake  of 
symmetry.  Their  rule  is  not  to  speak  justly,  but  to  make 
just  figures."  The  time  spent  on  his  own  compositions 
shows  that  even  such  felicity  as  his  own  could  not  dispense 

*  Faug^re,  Vol.  I.  p.  249. 


GENIUS   AND   WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL.  159 

with  that  toil,  which  is  an  essential  condition  of  all  perfect 
writing,  —  indeed  of  all  human  excellence ;  and  affords  one 
other  proof  of  the  extreme  shallowness  of  that  theory  which 
would  have  us  believe  that,  to  attain  success,  genius  alone  is 
all-sufficient.  He  is  said,  when  engaged  on  his  "  Lettres  Pro- 
vinciales,"  to  have  sometimes  employed  twenty  days  in  per 
fecting  a  single  letter. 

Another  circumstance  which,  as  already  intimated,  indi 
cates  Pascal's  felicity  of  genius,  is  the  peculiar  delicacy  and 
refinement  of  his  wit.  We  say  its  delicacy  and  refinement, 
for  the  mere  conjunction  of  great  wit  with  great  aptitude  for 
science  cannot  be  considered  as  a  felicity  peculiar  to  Pascal. 
It  is  the  character  of  that  wit.  The  conjunction  of  distin 
guished  wit,  in  one  or  other  of  its  many  forms,  with  elevated 
genius,  is  far  too  common  to  be  regarded  as  a  peculiarity  of 
his  mind.  Paradoxical  as  the  statement  may  at  first  sight 
appear  to  many  who  have  been  accustomed  to  consider  wis 
dom  and  wit  as  dwelling  apart,  it  may  be  doubted  whether 
there  is  any  one  attribute  so  common  to  the  highest  order  of 
mind,  whether  scientific  or  imaginative,  as  some  form  or  other 
of  this  quality.  The  names  of  Bacon,  Shakspeare,  Plato, 
Pascal,  Johnson,  Byron,  Scott,  and  many  more,  will  instantly 
occur  to  the  reader.  It  is  true  that  the  history  of  our  species 
reveals  to  us  minds  either  really  adapted  so  exclusively  to  the 
abstrusest  branches  of  science,  or  so  incessantly  immersed 
in  them,  that,  if  they  possessed  the  faculty  of  wit  at  all,  it 
was  never  developed.  Aristotle  and  Newton  —  though  some 
few  sayings  of  the  former  which  tradition  has  preserved  are 
not  a  little  racy  —  may  be  named  as  examples.  But,  in  gen 
eral,  —  and  the  whole  history  of  science  and  literature  will 
show  it,  —  this  attribute,  in  one  or  other  of  its  thousand  vari 
eties,  has  formed  an  almost  perpetual  accompaniment  of  the 
finest  order  of  minds.  And  we  may  add,  that,  a  priori,  we 
should  expect  it  to  be  so.  That  same  activity  of  suggestion, 
and  aptitude  for  detecting  resemblances,  analogies,  and  differ 
ences,  which  qualify  genius  for  making  discoveries  in  science, 


160  GENIUS    AND    WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL. 

or,  under  different  modifications,  for  evoking  the  creations  of 
imagination,  may  well  be  supposed  not  to  desert  their  posses 
sor,  when,  for  playful  purposes,  and  in  moments  of  relaxation, 
he  exercises  himself  in  the  detection  of  the  analogies  on  which 
wit  and  drollery  are  founded.  Yet,  clear  as  this  truth  seems 
to  be,  and  strongly  as  it  is  corroborated  by  the  history  of  ge 
nius,  the  opposite  opinion  has  been,  we  believe,  oftener  ex 
pressed,  and  the  highest  order  of  mind  pronounced  incompat 
ible  with  such  a  conjunction. 

It  is  not,  then,  the  activity,  but  the  peculiar  delicacy  of 
Pascal's  wit,  which  renders  this  feature  of  his  genius  so  truly 
worthy  of  admiration  ;  —  the  more  admirable,  when  it  is 
remembered  that  the  wit  of  that  age,  and  especially  among 
polemics,  so  generally  took  the  form  of  gross  scurrility  and 
buffoonery ;  and,  even  when  it  did  not  sink  so  low  as  that, 
was  overgrown  with  every  species  of  quaintness  and  affecta 
tion.  Almost  in  no  instance  was  it  found  pure  from  one  or 
other  of  these  debasements.  The  wit  of  Pascal,  on  the  con 
trary,  appears  even  now  exquisitely  chaste  and  natural, — 
attired  in  a  truly  Attic  simplicity  of  form  and  expression.  In 
one  quality  —  that  of  irony  —  nothing  appears  to  us  to  ap 
proach  it,  except  what  we  find  in  the  pages  of  Plato,  between 
whom  and  Pascal  (different,  and  even  opposite,  as  they  were 
in  many  respects)  it  were  easy  to  trace  a  resemblance  in  oth 
er  points  besides  the  character  of  their  wit.  Both  possessed 
surpassing  acuteness  and  subtlety  of  genius  in  the  department 
of  abstract  science,  —  both  delighted  in  exploring  the  depths 
of  man's  moral  nature,  —  both  gazed  enamored  on  the  ideal 
forms  of  moral  sublimity  and  loveliness,  —  both  were  char 
acterized  by  eminent  beauty  of  intellect,  and  both  were  abso 
lute  masters  of  the  art  of  representing  thought,  —  each  with 
exquisite  refinement  of  taste,  and  all  the  graces  of  language. 
The  Grecian,  indeed,  possessed  a  far  more  opulent  imagina 
tion,  and  indulged  in  a  more  gorgeous  -style,  than  the  French 
man  ;  or  rather,  Plato  may  be  said  to  have  been  a  master  of 
all  kinds  of  style.  His  dramatic  powers,  however,  in  none 


GENIUS   AND    WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL.  161 

of  his  dialogues,  can  be  greater  than  those  which  Pascal  has 
displayed  in  his  "  Lettres  Provinciales."  Nothing  could  be 
apter  for  the  purpose,  —  that  of  throwing  into  strong  light  the 
monstrous  errors  of  the  system  be  opposed,  —  than  the  ma 
chinery  the  author  has  selected.  The  affected  ignorance  and 
naivete  of  M.  Montalte,  in  quest  of  information  respecting 
the  theological  disputes  of  the  age,  and  especially  the  doctrines 
of  the  Jesuits,  —  the  frankness  of  the  worthy  Jesuit  father, 
of  whom  he  seeks  instruction,  and  who,  in  the  boundless  ad 
miration  of  his  order,  and  the  hope  of  making  a  convert, 
details  without  hesitation,  or  rather  with  triumph,  the  admira 
ble  contrivances  by  which  their  casuists  had,  in  fact,  inverted 
every  principle  of  morals,  and  eluded  all  the  obligations  of 
Christianity,  —  the  ironical  compliments  of  the  supposed  nov 
ice,  intermingled  with  objections  and  slightly  expressed  doubts, 
all  delivered  with  an  air  of  modest  ingenuousness,  which 
humbly  covets  further  light,  —  the  arch  simplicity  with  which 
he  involves  the  worthy  father  in  the  most  perplexing  dilem 
mas,  —  the  expressions  of  unsophisticated  astonishment,  which 
but  prompt  his  stolid  guide  eagerly  to  make  good  every  asser 
tion  by  a  proper  array  of  authorities,  —  a  device  which,  as 
Pascal  has  used  it,  converts  what  would  have  been  in  other 
hands  only  a  dull  catalogue  of  citations  into  a  source  of  per 
petual  amusement,  —  the  droll  consequences  which,  with 
infinite  affectation  of  simplicity,  he  draws  from  the  Jesuit's 
doctrines,  —  the  logical  exigencies  into  which  the  latter  is 
thrown  in  the  attempt  to  obviate  them,  —  all  these  things, 
managed  as  only  Pascal  could  have  managed  them,  render 
the  book  as  amusing  as  any  novel.  The  form  of  letters  en 
ables  him  at  the  same  time  to  intersperse,  amidst  the  conver 
sations  they  record,  the  most  eloquent  and  glowing  invectives 
against  the  doctrines  he  exposes.  Voltaire's  well  known  pan 
egyric  does  not  exceed  the  truth,  — "  that  Moliere's  best 
comedies  do  not  excel  them  in  wit,  nor  the  compositions  of 
Bossuet  in  sublimity."  "  This  work,"  says  D'Alembert,  "  is 
so  much  the  more  admirable,  as  Pascal,  in  composing  it, 
14* 


162  GENIUS   AND    WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL. 

seems  to  have  theologized  two  things  which  seem  not  made 
for  the  theology  of  that  time,  —  language  and  pleasantry." 

The  success  of  the  work  is  well  known.  By  his  inimit 
able  pleasantry,  Pascal  succeeded  in  making  even  the  dullest 
matters  of  scholastic  theology  and  Jesuitical  casuistry  as  at 
tractive  to  the  people  as  a  comedy  ;  and,  by  his  little  volume, 
did  more  to  render  the  formidable  Society  the  contempt  of  Eu 
rope,  than  was  ever  done  by  all  its  other  enemies  put  together. 

The  Jesuits  had  nothing  for  it  but  to  inveigh  against  the 
Letters  as  "the  immortal  liars," — les  menteurs  immortelles. 
To  their  charge  of  having  garbled  citations,  and  tampered 
with  evidence  in  order  to  produce  an  unfair  impression 
against  the  Society,  (practices  utterly  abhorrent  from  all  Pas 
cal's  habits  of  mind  and  dispositions  of  heart,)  he  replies, 
with  the  characteristic  boldness  and  frankness  of  his  nature  : 
"  I  was  asked  if  I  repented  of  having  written  l  Les  Pro- 
vinciales.'  I  reply,  that,  far  from  having  repented,  if  I  had 
to  write  them  now,  I  would  write  yet  more  strongly.  I  was 
asked  why  I  have  given  the  names  of  the  authors  from 
whom  I  have  taken  all  the  abominable  propositions  I  have 
cited.  I  answer,  that  if  I  lived  in  a  city  where  there  were  a 
dozen  fountains,  and  that  I  certainly  knew  that  there  was  one 
which  was  poisoned,  I  should  be  obliged  to  advertise  all  the 
world  to  draw  no  water  from  that  fountain  ;  and  as  they 
might  think  that  it  was  a  pure  imagination  on  my  part,  I 
should  be  obliged  to  name  him  who  had  poisoned  it,  rather 
than  expose  all  the  city  to  the  danger  of  being  poisoned  by 
it.  I  was  asked  why  I  had  employed  a  pleasant,  jocose,  and 
diverting  style.  I  reply,  that  if  I  had  written  in  a  dogmatical 
style,  it  would  have  been  only  the  learned  who  would  have 
read,  and  they  would  have  had  no  necessity  to  do  it,  being 
at  least  as  well  acquainted  with  the  subject  as  myself :  thus, 
I  thought  it  a  duty  to  write  so  as  to  be  comprehended  by 
women  and  men  of  the  world,  that  they  might  know  the 
danger  of  those  maxims  and  propositions  which  were  then 
universally  propagated,  and  of  which  they  permitted  them- 


GENIUS    AND    WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL.  163 

selves  to  be  so  easily  persuaded.  I  was  asked,  lastly,  if  I 
had  myself  read  all  the  books  I  have  cited.  I  answer,  No  ; 
for  in  that  case  it  would  have  been  necessary  to  have  passed 
my  life  in  reading  very  bad  books  ;  but  I  had  read  through  the 
whole  of  Escobar  twice,  and,  for  the  others,  I  caused  them 
to  be  read  by  my  friends.  But  I  have  never  used  a  single 
passage  without  having  myself  read  it  in  the  book  cited,  or 
without  having  examined  the  subject  on  which  it  is  adduced, 
or  without  having  read  both  what  precedes  and  what  follows 
it,  in  order  that  I  might  not  run  the  risk  of  quoting  what  was, 
in  fact,  an  objection  for  a  reply  to  it,  —  which  would  have 
been  censurable  and  unjust." 

The  moral  aspects  of  Pascal's  character  are  as  inviting 
as  those  of  his  intellect :  here,  too,  he  was  truly  great. 
Some  infirmities,  indeed,  he  had,  for  he  was  no  more  than 
man  :  he  is  nevertheless  one  of  the  very  few  who  as  passion 
ately  pursue  the  acquisition  of  moral  excellence,  as  the  quest 
after  speculative  truth ;  who,  practically  as  well  as  theoret 
ically,  believe  that  the  highest  form  of  humanity  is  not  in 
tellect,  but  goodness.  Usually  it  is  far  otherwise  ;  there  is 
no  sort  of  proportion  between  the  diligence  and  assiduity 
which  men  are  ordinarily  willing  to  expend  on  their  own 
intellectual  and  moral  culture.  Even  of  those  who  are  in  a 
good  degree  under  the  influence  of  moral  and  religious  prin 
ciples,  and  whose  conduct  in  all  the  more  important  instances 
of  life  shows  it,  how  few  are  there  who  make  that  compre 
hensive  rectitude,  the  obligation  of  which  they  acknowledge, 
and  the  ideal  of  which  they  admire,  the  study  of  their  lives, 
the  rule  of  their  daily  actions  in  little  things  as  well  as  great ; 
who  analyze  their  motives,  or  school  their  hearts,  in  relation 
to  the  habitual  expressions  of  thought  and  feeling,  in  con 
scious  obedience  to  it !  Nor  is  it  less  than  an  indication  of 
something  wrong  about  human  nature,  a  symptom  of  spirit 
ual  disease,  that  of  those  three  distinct  orders  of  "  greatness," 
which  Pascal  has  so  exquisitely  discriminated  in  his  "  Pen- 
sees,"  —  power,  intellect,  and  goodness,  —  the  admiration 


164  GENIUS   AND    WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL." 

inspired  by  the  two  first  should  be  so  much  greater  than  that 
inspired  by  the  last.  The  reverence  for  genius,  in  particular, 
often  degenerates  into  a  species  of  idolatry  ;  so  much  so,  as 
to  lead  to  the  proverbial,  but  most  culpable,  extenuation  of 
grave  faults  on  the  part  of  biographers,  who  cannot  bear  to 
see  a  spot  on  the  bright  luminary  they  admire  !  Even  if 
moral  excellence  be  theoretically  allowed  to  claim  equal 
enthusiasm  of  admiration,  it  rarely  receives  it.  How  vivid, 
after  all,  is  the  sentiment  which  the  intellect  of  a  Bacon  or 
a  Shakspeare  usually  excites  in  the  young  and  ardent,  com 
pared  with  that  with  which  they  regard  a  Howard  or  a  Martyn ! 
Yet  invincible  patience,  heroic  constancy,  that  honesty  of  pur 
pose  which  is  proof  against  all  flatteries  and  all  menace,  per 
fect  candor,  the  spirit  of  unfeigned  humility,  benevolence,  and 
charity,  are  surely  not  less  worthy  of  our  most  enthusiastic  ad 
miration,  than  those  .qualities  of  mind  which  prompt  the  dis 
coveries  of  the  philosopher,  or  inspire  the  strains  of  the  poet. 
It  is  one  of  the  proofs,  according  to  Paley's  ingenious 
remark,  of  the  originality  of  the  Gospel,  and  one  of  the 
marks  of  the  divinity  of  its  origin,  that  it  chiefly  insists  on 
the  cultivation  of  an  order  of  virtues  which  had  been  least 
applauded  by  man,  and  in  which,  as  that  very  fact  would 
indicate,  man  was  most  deficient ;  of  humility,  meekness, 
patience,  rather  than  of  those  opposite  virtues  to  which  the 
active  principles  of  his  nature  would  most  readily  prompt 
him,  and  which  have  been  accordingly  the  chief  objects  of 
culture  and  admiration.  We  may  extend  the  remark,  and 
observe,  that  it  is  an  equal  indication  of  the  originality  of  the 
Gospel  and  of  the  divinity  of  its  origin,  that  the  ideal  of 
greatness  which  it  has  presented  to  us,  is  of  a  different  char 
acter  from  that  which  has  chiefly  fixed  the  enthusiastic  gaze 
of  man.  It  is  not  one  in  which  power  and  intellect  consti 
tute  the  predominant  qualities,  associated  with  just  so  much 
virtue  as  serves  to  make  the  picture  free  from  all  grave  re 
proach  ;  but  the  perfection  of  truth,  rectitude,  and  love,  — 
to  which  even  the  attributes  of  superhuman  power  and  super- 


GENIUS    AND    WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL.  165 

human  wisdom,  with  which  they  are  blended,  are  so  won 
derfully  subordinated,  that  they  seem,  as  they  are,  intrinsi 
cally  of  inferior  lustre.  Glorious  as  is  their  light,  it  is  abso 
lutely  quenched  in  the  brighter  effulgence  of  ineffable  and 
supernal  goodness.  We  think  of  Csesar  as  the  great  warrior 
and  the  great  statesman  ;  of  Shakspeare  as  the  great  poet ; 
of  Newton  as  the  great  philosopher  :  when  the  Christian 
thinks  of  his  Master,  though  he  believes  him  to  be  possessed 
of  immeasurably  greater  power  and  wisdom  than  theirs,  — 
his  first,  last  thought  is,  that  he  is  THE  GOOD. 

The  character  of  greatness  in  Christ,  Pascal  has  beauti 
fully  touched.  "  The  distance  between  Matter  and  Mind 
typifies  the  infinitely  greater  distance  between  Mind  and 

Love All  the  eclat  of  external  greatness  has  no  lustre 

for  men  profoundly  engaged  in  intellectual  researches 

Their  greatness,  again,  is  invisible  to  the  noble  and  the 

rich Great  geniuses  have  their  empire,  their  splendor, 

their  victory,  their  renown These  are  seen  with  the 

eyes  of  the  mind,  and  that  is  sufficient Holy  men, 

again,  have  their  empire,  their  victory,  and  their  renown. 

Archimedes  would  have  been  venerable  even  without 

rank.  He  gained  no  battles  ;  but  to  the  intellectual  world 
he  has  bequeathed  great  discoveries.  How  illustrious  does 

he  look  in  their  eyes  ! In  like  manner  Jesus  Christ, 

without  external  splendor,  without  the  outward  repute  of 

science,  is  great  in  his  own  order  of  holiness It  had 

been  idle  in  Archimedes  to  have  insisted  on  his  royal  de 
scent  in  his  books  of  geometry.  And  it  had  been  as  useless 
for  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  to  assume  the  state  of  a  king  for 
the  purpose  of  giving  splendor  to  his  reign  of  holiness.  But 
he  came  fully  invested  with  the  lustre  of  his  own  order." 

Few  men  have  ever  dwelt  on  this  ideal  of  moral  perfec 
tion,  or  sought  to  realize  its  image  in  themselves,  with  more 
ardor  than  Pascal,  —  not  always,  indeed,  as  regards  the 
mode,  with  as  much  wisdom  as  ardor.  Yet,  upon  all  the 
great  features  of  his  moral  character,  one  dwells  with  the 


166  GENIUS   AND    WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL. 

serenest  delight.  Much  as  he  is  to  be  admired,  he  is  yet 
more  to  be  loved.  His  humility  and  simplicity,  conspicuous 
as  his  genius  and  acquisitions,  were  those  of  a  veiy  child. 
The  favorite  of  science,  —  repeatedly  crowned,  as  an  old 
Greek  might  have  said  of  some  distinguished  young  hero  at 
Olympia,  with  the  fairest  laurels  of  the  successful  mathema 
tician  and  the  unrivalled  polemic,  —  making  discoveries  even 
in  his  youth  which  would  have  intoxicated  many  men  even 
to  madness,  —  neither  pride  nor  vanity  found  admission  to 
his  heart.  Philosophy  and  science  produced  on  him  only 
their  proper  effect,  and  taught  him,  not  how  much  he 
knew,  but  how  little  ;  not  merely  what  he  had  attained,  but 
of  how  much  more  he  was  ignorant.  His  perfect  love  of 
truth  was  beautifully  blended  with  the  gentlest  charity  ;  and 
his  contempt  of  fraud  and  sophistry  never  made  him  forget, 
while  indignantly  exposing  them,  the  courtesies  of  a  gentle 
man  and  the  moderation  of  the  Christian  :  and  thus  the  se 
verest  raillery  that  probably  ever  fell  from  human  lips,  flows 
on  in  a  stream  undiscolored  by  one  particle  of  malevolence, 
and  unruffled  by  one  expression  of  coarseness  or  bitterness. 
The  transparency  and  integrity  .of  his  character  not  only 
shone  conspicuous  in  all  the  transactions  of  his  life,  but  seem 
even  now  to  beam  upon  us  as  from  an  open  ingenuous  coun 
tenance,  in  the  inimitable  frankness  and  clearness  of  his  style. 
It  is  impossible  to  read  the  passages  in  his  philosophical 
writings,  in  which  he  notices  or  refutes  the  calumnies  to 
which  he  had  been  exposed,  —  by  which  it  was  sometimes 
sought  to  defraud  him  of  the  honor  of  the  discoveries  he  had 
made,  and  in  one  instance  to  cover  him  with  the  infamy  of 
appropriating  discoveries  which  had  been  made  by  others,  — 
without  being  convinced  of  the  perfect  candor  and  upright 
ness  of  his  nature.*  His  generosity  and  benevolence  were 
unbounded  ;  so  much  so,  indeed,  as  to  become  almost  vices 

*  See  more  particularly  his  letters  to  Father  Noel,  M.  le  Pailleur,  and 
M.  de  Bibeyre. 


GENIUS   AND   WRITINGS   OF   PASCAL.  167 

by  excess ;  passing  far  beyond  that  mean  in  which  the  Sta- 
gyrite  fixes  the  limits  of  all  virtue.  He  absolutely  beggared 
himself  by  his  prodigal  benefactions  ;  he  did  what  few  do,  — 
mortgaged  even  his  expectancies  to  charity.  To  all  which 
we  may  add,  that  he  bore  the  prolonged  and  excruciating  suf 
ferings  of  his  latter  years  with  a  patience  and  fortitude  which 
astonished  all  who  witnessed  them. 

The  failings  of  Pascal  —  for  to  these  we  must  advert  — 
were  partly  the  result  of  that  system  of  faith  in  which  he  had 
been  educated,  and  which,  though  he  did  so  much  to  expose 
many  of  the  worst  enormities  which  had  attached  themselves 
to  it,  still  exercised  considerable  influence  over  him.  It  is 
lamentable  to  see  such  a  mind  as  his  surrendering  itself  to 
some  of  the  most  grievous  extravagances  of  asceticism.  Yet 
the  fact  cannot  be  denied  ;  nor  is  it  improbable  that  his  life 
—  brief  perhaps  at  the  longest,  considering  his  intense  study 
and  his  feeble  constitution  —  was  yet  made  more  brief  by 
these  pernicious  practices.  We  are  told,  not  only  that  he 
lived  on  the  plainest  fare,  and  performed  the  most  menial 
offices  for  himself;  not  only  that  he  practised  the  severest 
abstinence  and  the  most  rigid  devotions ;  but  that  he  wore 
beneath  his  clothes  a  girdle  of  iron,  with  sharp  points  affixed 
to  it ;  and  that,  whenever  he  found  his  mind  disposed  to  wan 
der  from  religious  subjects,  or  take  delight  in  things  around 
him,  he  struck  the  girdle  with  his  elbow,  and  forced  the  sharp 
points  of  the  iron  into  his  side.  We  even  see  but  too  clearly 
that  his  views  of  life,  to  a  considerable  extent,  became  per 
verted.  He  cherished  mistrust  even  of  its  blessings,  and 
acted,  though  he  meant  it  not,  as  if  the  very  gifts  of  God 
were  to  be  received  with  suspicion,  —  as  the  smiling  tempters 
to  evil,  the  secret  enemies  of  our  well-being.  He  often  ex 
presses  himself  as  though  he  thought,  not  only  that  suffering 
is  necessary  to  the  moral  discipline  of  man,  but  as  though 
nothing  but  suffering  is  at  present  safe  for  him.  "  I  can  ap- 
pro^e,"  he  says  in  one  place,  "  only  of  those  who  seek  in 
tears  for  happiness."  "  Disease,"  he  declares  in  another 


168  GENIUS   AND   WRITINGS    OF   PASCAL. 

place,  "  is  the  natural  state  of  Christians."  It  is  evident 
that  the  great  and  gracious  Master,  in  whose  school  we  all 
are,  and  whose  various  dispensations  of  goodness  and  sever 
ity  are  dictated  by  a  wisdom  greater  than  our  own,  does  not 
think  so.  If  he  did,  health  would  be  the  exception,  and  dis 
ease  the  rule.  It  is  but  too  true,  indeed,  that  not  only  is 
suffering  necessary  to  teach  us  our  feebleness  and  depend 
ence,  and  to  abate  the  pride  and  confidence  of  our  nature, 
but  that  we  are  but  too  apt  to  forget,  with  the  return  of  pros 
perity,  all  the  wise  reflections  and  purposes  which  we  had 
made  in  sorrow.  Jeremy  Taylor  likens  us,  in  one  of  his 
many  fanciful  images,  to  the  fabled  lamps  in  the  tomb  of 
Terentia,  which  "  burned  under  ground  for  many  ages  to 
gether,"  but  which,  as  soon  as  ever  they  were  brought  into 
the  air  and  saw  a  brighter  light,  went  out  in  darkness.  "  So 
long  as  we  are  in  the  retirements  of  sorrow,  of  want,  of  fear, 
of  sickness,  we  are  burning  and  shining  lamps  ;  but  when 
God  lifts  us  up  from  the  gates  of  death,  and  carries  us  abroad 
into  the  open  air,  to  converse  with  prosperity  and  temptations, 
we  go  out  in  darkness,  and  we  cannot  be  preserved  in  light 
and  heat,  but  by  still  dwelling  in  the  regions  of  sorrow." 
There  is  beauty,  and,  to  a  certain  extent,  truth,  in  the  figure  ; 
but  it  by  no  means  follows  that  continuous  suffering  would  be 
good  for  man.  On  the  contrary,  it  would  be  as  remote  from 
producing  the  perfection  of  our  moral  nature,  as  unmitigated 
prosperity.  It  would  be  apt  to  produce  a  morbid  and  ghast 
ly  piety  ;  the  "  bright  lamps  "  of  which  Taylor  speaks  would 
still  irradiate  —  only  a  tomb. 

Since  the  end  of  suffering,  as  a  moral  discipline,  is  to  ena 
ble  us  at  last  to  bear  unclouded  happiness,  what  guaranty 
can  we  now  have  of  its  beneficial  effect  on  us,  except  by 
partial  experiments  of  our  capacity  of  recollecting  and  prac 
tising  the  lessons  of  adversity  in  intervals  of  prosperity  ?  It 
is  true  that  there  is  no  more  perilous  ordeal  through  which 
man  can  pass,  —  no  greater  curse  which  can  be  imposed  on 
him,  as  he  is  at  present  constituted,  —  than  that  of  being 


GENIUS   AND   WRITINGS    OF   PASCAL.  169 

condemned  to  walk  his  life  long  in  the  sunlight-  of  unshaded 
prosperity.  His  eyes  ache  with  that  too  untempered  bril 
liance,  —  he  is  apt  to  be  smitten  with  a  moral  coup  de  soleil. 
But  it  as  little  follows  that  no  sunshine  is  good  for  us.  He 
who  made  us,  and  who  tutors  us,  alone  knows  what  is  the 
exact  measure  of  light  and  shade,  sun  and  cloud,  storm  and 
calm,  frost  and  heat,  which  will  best  tend  to  mature  those 
flowers  which  are  the  object  of  his  celestial  husbandry  ;  and 
which,  when  transplanted  into  the  paradise  of  God,  are  to 
bloom  there  for  ever  in  amaranthine  loveliness.  Nor  can  it 
be  without  presumption  that  we  essay  to  interfere  with  these 
processes  ;  our  highest  wisdom  is  to  fall  in  with  them.  And 
certain  it  is  that  every  man  will  find  by  experience  that  he 
has  enough  to  do,  to  bear  with  patience  and  fortitude  the  real 
afflictions  with  which  God  may  visit  him,  without  venturing 
to  fill  up  the  intervals  in  which  He  has  left  him  ease,  and 
even  invites  him  to  gladness,  by  a  self-imposed  and  artificial 
sorrow.  Nay,  if  his  mind  be  well  constituted,  he  will  feel 
that  the  learning  how  to  apply,  in  hours  of  happiness,  the 
truths  which  he  has  pondered  in  the  school  of  sorrow,  is  not 
one  of  the  least  difficult  lessons  which  sorrow  has  to  teach 
him ;  not  to  mention  that  the  grateful  reception  of  God's 
gifts  is  as  true  a  part  of  duty,  and  even  a  more  neglected 
part  of  it,  than  a  patient  submission  to  his  chastisements. 

It  is  at  our  peril,  then,  that  we  seek  to  interfere  with  the 
discipline  which  is  provided  for  us.  He  who  acts  as  if  God 
had  mistaken  the  proportions  in  which  prosperity  and  adver 
sity  should  be  allotted  to  us,  —  and  seeks  by  hair-shirts,  pro 
longed  abstinence,  and  self-imposed  penace,  to  render  more 
perfect  the  discipline  of  suffering,  —  only  enfeebles,  instead 
of  invigorating,  his  piety  ;  and  resembles  one  of  those  hypo- 
chondriacal  patients — the  plague  and  torment  of  physicians 
—  who,  having  sought  advice,  and  being  supposed  to  follow 
it,  are  found  not  only  taking  their  physician's  well-judged 
prescriptions,  but  secretly  dosing  themselves  in  the  intervals 
with  some  quackish  nostrum.  Thus  it  was  even  with  a  Pas- 
is 


170  GENIUS   AND   WRITINGS    OF   PASCAL. 

caj?  —  and  we  cannot  see  that  the  experiment  was  attended 
in  his  case  with  any  better  effects. 

It  is  indeed  pitiable  to  read,  that  during  his  last  days  his 
perverted  notions  induced  him  to  refrain  from  the  natural  ex 
pressions  of  fondness  and  gratitude  towards  his  sisters  and 
attendants,  lest  that  affection  with  which  they  regarded  him 
should  become  inordinate  ;  lest  they  should  transfer  to  an 
earthly  creature  the  affection  due  only  to  the  Supreme. 
Something  like  an  attempted  justification  of  such  conduct, 
indeed,  occurs  in  his  "Pensees."  "II  est  injuste  qu'on  s'at- 
tache  a  moi,  quoiqu'on  le  fasse  avec  plaisir  et  volontairement. 
Je  tromperais  ceux  a  qui  j'en  ferais  naitre  le  desir  ;  car  je  ne 
suis  la  fin  de  personne,  et  n'ai  pas  de  quoi  les  satisfaire.  Ne 
suis-je  pas  pret  a  mourir  ?  Et  ainsi  Pobjet  de  leur  attach 
ment  mourra  done.  Comme  je  serais  coupable  de  faire 
croire  une  faussete,  quoique  je  la  persuadasse  doucement  et 
qu'on  la  crut  avec  plaisir,  et  qu'en  cela  on  me  fit  plaisir  ; 
de  meme  je  suis  coupable  de  me  faire  aimer."  !  Madame 
Perier  has  cited  this  passage  in  the  life  of  her  brother,  as  ac 
counting  for  his  apparent  coldness  to  herself.f 

It  is  wonderful  that  a  mind  so  powerful  as  his  should  be 
misled  by  a  pernicious  asceticism  to  adopt  such  maxims ;  it 
is  still  more  wonderful,  that  a  heart  so  fond  should  have  been 
able  to  act  upon  them.  To  restrain,  even  in  his  dying  hours, 
expressions  of  tenderness  towards  those  whom  he  so  loved, 
and  who  so  loved  him,  —  to  simulate  a  coldness  which  his 
feelings  belied,  — to  repress  the  sensibilities  of  a  grateful  and 
confiding  nature,  —  to  inflict  a  pang  by  affected  indifference 

*  Tom.  I.  p.  198. 

t  The  passage  of  Madame  Perier  is  deeply  affecting.  "  Meanwhile, 
as  I  was  wholly  a  stranger  to  his  sentiments  on  this  point,  I  was  quite 
surprised  and  discouraged  at  the  rebuffs  he  would  give  me  upon  certain 
occasions.  I  told  my  sister  of  it,  and  not  without  complaining,  that  my 
brother  was  unkind,  and  did  not  love  me ;  and  that  it  looked  to  me  as  if 
I  put  him  in  pain,  even  at  the  very  moment  I  was  studying  to  please 
him,  and  striving  to  perform  the  most  affectionate  offices  for  him  in  his 
illness."  — Madame  PC-tier's  Memoirs  of  Pascal. 


GENIUS   AND   WRITINGS  OF    PASCAL.  171 

on  hearts  as  fond  as  his  own,  —  here  was  indeed  a  proof  of 
the  truth  upon  which  he  so  passionately  meditated,  the 
"  greatness  and  the  misery  "  of  man,  of  his  strength  and 
his  weakness ;  weakness  in  supposing  that  such  perversion 
of  all  nature  could  ever  be  a  dictate  of  duty,  strength  in 
performing,  without  wincing,  a  task  so  hard.  The  Ameri 
can  Indian  bearing  unmoved  the  torture  of  his  enemies  ex 
hibits  not,  we  may  rest  assured,  greater  fortitude  than  Pascal, 
when,  with  such  a  heart  as  his,  he  received  in  silence  the  last 
ministrations  of  his  devoted  friends,  and  even  declined,  with 
cold  and  averted  eye,  the  assiduities  of  their  zealous  love. 

That  same  melancholy  temperament  which,  united  with  a 
pernicious  asceticism,  made  him  avert  his  gaze  even  from  in 
nocent  pleasures,  and  suspect  a  serpent  lurking  in  every  form 
of  pleasure,  also  gave  to  his  representations  of  the  depravity 
of  our  nature  an  undue  intensity  and  Rembrandt-like  depth  of 
coloring.  His  mode  of  expression  is  often  such,  that,  were  it 
not  for  what  we  otherwise  know  of  his  character,  it  might  al 
most  be  mistaken  for  an  indication  of  misanthropy.  With 
this  vice,  accordingly,  Voltaire  does  not  hesitate  to  tax  him. 

'*  Ce  fameux  ecrivain,  misanthrope  sublime." 

Nothing  can  be  more  unjust.  As  to  the  substance  of  what 
Pascal  has  said  of  human  frailty  and  infirmity,  most  of  it  is 
at  once  verified  by  the  appeal  to  individual  consciousness  ; 
and  as  to  the  manner,  we  are  not  to  forget  that  he  everywhere 
dwells  as  much  upon  the  "  greatness  "  as  upon  the  "  misery  " 
of  man.  "  It  is  the  ruined  archangel,"  says  Hallam,  with 
equal  justness  and  beauty,  "  that  Pascal  delights  to  paint." 
It  is  equally  evident  that  he  is  habitually  inspired  by  a  desire 
to  lead  man  to  truth  and  happiness ;  nor  is  there  any  thing 
more  affecting  than  the  passage  with  which  he  closes  one  of 
his  expostulations  with  infidelity,  and  which  M.  Cousin  finely 
characterizes  as  "  une  citation  glorieuse  a  Pascal."  "  This 
argument,  you  say,  delights  me.  If  this  argument  pleases 
you,  and  appears  strong,  know  that  it  proceeds  from  one,  who, 
both  before  and  after  it,  fell  on  his  knees  before  that  Infinite 


172  GENIUS   AND   WRITINGS    OF   PASCAL. 

and  Invisible  Being  to  whom  he  has  subjected  his  whole  soul, 
to  pray  that  He  would  also  subject  you  to  Himself  for  your 
good  and  for  His  glory ;  and  that  thus  omnipotence  might 
give  efficacy  to  his  feebleness." 

In  addition  to  this,  it  must  be  said,  that,  in  his  most  bitter 
reflections,  this  truly  humble  man  is  thinking  as  much  of  him 
self  as  of  others,  and  regards  Blaise  Pascal  as  but  a  type  of 
the  race  whose  degeneracy  he  mourns.  His  most  bitter  sar 
casms  often  terminate  with  a  special  application  to  the  writer. 
Thus  he  says :  "  Vanity  is  so  rooted  in  the  heart  of  man, 
that  a  common  soldier,  a  scullion,  will  boast  of  himself,  and 
will  have  his  admirers.  It  is  the  same  with  the  philosophers. 
Those  who  write  would  fain  have  the  fame  of  having  written 
well ;  and  those  who  read  it,  would  have  the  glory  of  having 
read  it ;  and  1,  who  am  writing,  probably  feel  the  same  de 
sire,  and  not  less  those  who  shall  read  it" 

It  is  true,  indeed,  that  some  of  his  reflections  are  as  caustic 
and  bitter  as  those  of  Rochefoucauld  himself.  For  example  : 
"  Curiosity  is  but  vanity.  Often  we  wish  to  know  more, 
only  that  we  may  talk  of  it.  People  would  never  traverse 
the  sea,  if  they  were  never  to  speak  of  it ;  for  the  mere 
pleasure  of  seeing,  without  the  hope  of  ever  telling  what 
they  have  seen." 

And  again :  "  Man  is  so  constituted,  that,  by  merely  telling 
him  he  is  a  fool,  he  will  at  length  believe  it ;  and,  if  he  tells 
himself  so,  he  will  constrain  himself  to  believe  it.  For  man 
holds  an  internal  intercourse  with  himself,  which  ought  to  be 
well  regulated,  since  even  here  '  Evil  communications  corrupt 
good  manners.'  " 

It  may  not  be  without,  amusement,  perhaps  instruction,  to 
cite  one  or  two  other  specimens  of  this  shrewd  and  caustic 
humor. 

"  Certain  authors,  speaking  of  their  works,  say,  '  My  book, 
my  commentary,  my  history.'  It  were  better  to  say,  '  Our 
book,  our  history,  our  commentary ' ;  for  generally  there  is 
more  in  it  belonging  to  others  than  to  themselves." 

"  I  lay  it  down  as  a  fact,  that,  if  all  men  knew  what  they 


GENIUS   AND    WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL.  173 

say  of  one  another,  there  would  not  be  four  friends  in  the 
world.  This  appears  by  the  quarrels  which  are  sometimes 
caused  by  indiscreet  reports." 

Still,  as  it  is  the  motive  which  gives  complexion  to  all  our 
moral  actions,  so  Pascal's  bitter  wisdom,  or  even  his  unjust 
satire,  is  something  very  different  from  misanthropy.  Byron 
found  an  apology  for  his  Cain  in  Milton's  delineation  of  Satan ; 
but  few  besides  himself  could  ever  see  its  force.  With  as 
little  reason  could  a  Timon  plead  the  example  of  a  Pascal. 
Those  who  cannot  see  a  deep  benevolence  in  all  that  he 
wrote  respecting  our  corrupted  nature,  must  indeed  be  blind. 
It  is  with  no  demoniacal  chuckle,  no  smile  of  malicious  tri 
umph,  that  he  publishes  the  result  of  his  researches  into  the 
depths  of  man's  moral  nature.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  with 
profoundest  pity.  He  gazes  on  the  noble  ruins  of  humanity 
as  on  those  of  some  magnificent  temple,  and  longs  to  see  the 
fallen  columns  and  the  defaced  sculpture  restored.  With  what 
noble  eloquence — with  what  deep  sympathy  with  humanity 
—  does  he  rebuke  the  levity  of  those  infidels  who  tell  us,  as 
if  it  were  a  matter  of  triumph,  that  we  are  "  the  inhabitants 
of  a  fatherless  and  forsaken  world  "  ;  and  who  talk  as  if  their 
vaunted  demonstration  of  the  vanity  of  our  immortal  hopes 
gave  them  a  peculiar  title  to  our  gratitude  and  admiration ! 
"  What  advantage  is  it  to  us  to  hear  a  man  saying  that  he 
has  thrown  off  the  yoke ;  that  he  does  not  think  there  is  any 
God  who  watches  over  his  actions  ;  that  he  considers  himself 
as  the  sole  judge  of  his  conduct,  and  that  he  is  accountable 
to  none  but  himself?  Does  he  imagine  that  we  shall  here 
after  repose  special  confidence  in  him,  and  expect  from  him 
consolation,  advice,  succor,  in  the  exigencies  of  life  ?  Do 
such  men  imagine  that  it  is  any  matter  of  delight  to  us  to  hear 
that  they  hold  that  our  soul  is  but  a  little  vapor  or  smoke,  and 
that  they  can  tell  us  this  in  an  assured  and  self-sufficient  tone 
of  voice  ?  Is  this,  then,  a  thing  to  say  with  gayety  ?  Is  it 
not  rather  a  thing  to  be  said  with  tears,  as  the  saddest  thing 
in  the  world  ?  " 

15* 


174  GENIUS   AND    WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL. 

On  the  whole,  in  contemplating  the  richly  diversified  char 
acteristics  of  this  exalted  genius  in  its  different  moods  and 
phases,  —  the  combination  of  sublimity  and  depth  with  light 
ness  and  grace,  of  the  noblest  aptitudes  for  abstract  spec 
ulation  with  the  utmost  delicacy  of  taste  and  sensibility 
of  feeling,  of  profound  melancholy  with  the  happiest  and 
most  refined  humor  and  raillery,  —  the  grandeur  of  many 
aspects  of  his  character,  and  the  loveliness  of  others,  —  we 
seem  to  be  reminded  of  the  contradictory  features  of  Alpine 
scenery,  where  all  forms  of  sublimity  and  beauty,  of  loveli 
ness  and  terror,  are  found  in  singular  proximity  ;  where  up 
land  valleys  of  exquisite  verdure  and  softness  lie  at  the  foot 
of  the  eternal  glaciers  ;  where  spots  of  purest  pastoral  repose 
and  beauty  smile  under  the  very  shadow  of  huge,  snowy 
peaks,  and  form  the  entrance  of  those  savage  gorges,  in 
which  reigns  perpetual,  but  sublime  desolation  ;  where  the 
very  silence  is  appalling,  —  broken  only  by  the  roar  of  the 
distant  cataract,  and  the  lonely  thunder  of  the  avalanche. 

We  must  now  make  some  remarks  on  the  projected  trea 
tise,  of  which  the  "  Pensees  "  were  designed  to  form  the 
rude  materials. 

It  is  impossible  to  determine,  from  the  undeveloped  char 
acter  of  these  u  Thoughts,"  the  precise  form  of  the  work  ; 
all  we  are  told  is,  that  it  was  to  have  treated  of  the  primary 
truths  of  all  religion,  and  of  the  evidences  of  Christianity. 
It  is  clear,  that  about  half  the  "  thoughts  "  which  relate  to 
theology  at  all,  have  reference  to  the  former.  In  Pascal's 
time,  however,  both  subjects  might  have  been  naturally  in 
cluded  in  one  work.  The  great  deistical  controversies  of 
Europe  had  not  yet  commenced,  and  there  had  been  little 
reason  to  discriminate  very  nicely  the  limits  of  the  two  in 
vestigations.  Pascal  himself  could  hardly  have  anticipated 
the  diversified  forms  which  the  subject  of  the  evidences  of 
Christianity  alone  would  assume,  —  so  diversified,  indeed, 
that  they  are  probably  insusceptible  from  their  variety  (ex- 


GENIUS    AND   WRITINGS   OF   PASCAL.  175 

ternal  and  internal)  of  being  fully  exhibited  by  one  mind, 
or,  consequently,  in  one  volume.  The  evidences  of  Chris 
tianity  almost  form  a  science  of  themselves. 

Fragmentary  as  the  "  Pensees  "  are,  it  is  easy  to  see,  both 
from  their  general  tenor,  and  from  the  character  of  the  au 
thor's  mind,  where  the  principal  strength  of  such  a  work 
would  lie.  His  proofs  of  the  truths  of  natural  religion  would 
have  been  drawn  from  within,  rather  than  from  without ;  and 
his  proofs  of  the  truths  of  Christianity  from  its  internal  rather 
than  external  evidences ;  —  including  in  this  term  "  internal," 
not  only  the  adaptation  of  the  doctrines  revealed  to  the  moral 
nature  of  man,  but  whatsoever  indications  the  fabric  of  Scrip 
ture  itself  may  afford  of  the  divinity  of  its  origin. 

It  is  evident,  that  he  had  revolved  all  these  topics  pro 
foundly.  None  had  explored  more  diligently  the  abyss  of 
man's  moral  nature,  or  mused  more  deeply  on  the  "  great 
ness  and  misery  of  man,"  —  or  orf  the  "  contrarieties  "  which 
characterize  him,  —  or  on  the  remedies  for  his  infirmities 
and  corruptions.  And  there  are  few,  even  since  his  time, 
who  seem  to  have  appreciated  more  fully  the  evidences  of 
Christianity  arising  from  indications  of  truth  in  the  genius, 
structure,  and  style  of  the  Scriptures  ;  or  from  the  difficul 
ties,  not  to  say  impossibilities,  of  supposing  such  a  fiction  as 
Christianity  the  probable  product  of  any  human  artifice, 
much  less  of  such  an  age,  country,  and,  above  all,  such  men, 
as  the  problem  limits  us  to.  In  one  passage,  he  gives  ex 
pression  to  a  thought  which  has  been  expanded  into  the 
beautiful  and  eminently  original  work  of  Paley,  entitled 
"  Horse  Paulinas."  He  says  :  "  The  style  of  the  Gospel  is 
admirable  in  many  respects,  and,  amongst  others,  in  this, — 
that  there  is  not  a  single  invective  against  the  murderers  and 
enemies  of  Jesus  Christ If  the  modesty  of  the  evan 
gelical  historians  had  been  affected,  and,  in  common  with  so 
many  other  traits  of  so  beautiful  a  character,  had  been  affect 
ed  only  that  they  might  be  observed,  then,  if  they  had  not 
ventured  to  advert  to  it  themselves,  they  would  not  have 


176  GENIUS   AND    WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL. 

failed  to  get  their  friends  to  remark  on  it,  to  their  advantage. 
But  as  they  acted  in  this  way  without  affectation,  and  from 
a  principle  altogether  disinterested,  they  never  provided  any 
one  to  make  such  a  criticism.  And,  in  my  judgment,  there 
are  many  points  of  this  kind  which  have  never  been  noticed 
hitherto  ;  and  this  testifies  to  the  simplicity  with  which  the 
thing  was  done."  * 

He  has  also,  with  characteristic  comprehensiveness,  con 
densed  into  a  single  paragraph  the  substance  of  the  cele 
brated  volume  of  "  Bampton  Lectures,"  on  the  contrasts 
between  Mahometanism  and  Christianity.  "  Mahomet  found 
ed  his  system  on  slaughter ;  Jesus  Christ  by  exposing  his 
disciples  to  death  ;  Mahomet  by  forbidding  to  read ;  the 
Apostles  by  commanding  it.  In  a  word,  so  opposite  is  the 
plan  of  one  from  that  of  the  other,  that,  if  Mahomet  took  the 
way  to  succeed  according  to  human  calculation,  Jesus  Christ 
certainly  took  the  way  to  fail  ;  and  instead  of  arguing,  that, 
since  Mahomet  succeeded,  Jesus  Christ  might  also  succeed, 
we  ought  rather  to  say,  that,  since  Mahomet  succeeded,  it  is 
impossible  but  that  Jesus  Christ  should  fail."  f 

On  the  subject  of  the  External  Evidences,  we  doubt 
whether  he  would  have  been  equally  successful, —  partly 
because  the  spirit  of  accurate  historic  investigation  had  not 
yet  been  developed,  and  partly  from  the  character  of  his 
own  mind.  On  the  subject  of  Miracles,  too,  he  scarcely 
seems  to  have  worked  his  conceptions  clear  ;  and  in  relation 
to  that  of  Prophecy,  he  was  evidently  often  inclined  to  lay 
undue  stress  on  analogies  between  events  recorded  in  the 
Old  Testament  and  others  recorded  in  the  New,  where 
Scripture  itself  is  silent  as  to  any  connection  between  them  ; 
—  analogies  in  one  or  two  cases  as  fanciful  as  any  of  those 
in  which  the  Fathers  saw  so  many  types  and  prefigurations 
of  undeveloped  truths.  This  disposition  to  forget  the  limits 
between  the  analogies  which  may  form  the  foundation  of  a 

*  Tom.  II.  p.  370.  t  Ibid.,  p.  337. 


GENIUS  AND   WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL.  177 

logical  argument,  and  those  which,  after  all,  can  yield  only 
poetical  illustrations,  has  too  often  obtruded  itself  even  into 
the  domain  of  physical  science  ;  and  is  one  from  which  the 
most  philosophic  minds,  if  they  have  much  imaginativeness, 
are  by  no  means  exempt.  Even  Bacon,  in  several  instan 
ces,  has  been  the  dupe  of  this  delusion,  —  one  of  the  idola 
tribus  which  he  was  so  anxious  to  expose. 

There  is  one  subject  on  which,  after  reading  the  "  Pen- 
sees,"  one  would  fain  have  seen  a  treatise  from  the  hand  of 
Pascal.  If  he  had  enjoyed  leisure,  health,  and  an  unclouded 
mind,  there  is  probably  no  man  who  could  have  written 
more  profoundly  or  more  wisely  on  the  Prima  Philosophia, 
—  the  first  principles  of  all  knowledge,  —  the  limits  within 
which  man  can  hopefully  speculate,  —  and  the  condition  and 
principles  of  belief.  On  all  these  subjects  he  had  reflected 
much  and  deeply.  His  remarks  on  the  position  of  man  be 
tween  "  the  two  infinitudes,"  which  he  has  so  finely  illus 
trated,  —  on  the  Dogmatists  and  Pyrrhonists,  —  on  the  influ 
ence  of  the  affections  and  passions  on  the  understanding, — 
and  his  observations  entitled,  "  De  PArt  de  Persuader,"  and 
"  De  PEsprit  Geometrique,"  — all  show  how  deeply  he  had 
revolved  the  principal  topics  of  such  a  work. 

We  have  already  alluded  to  the  charge  preferred  against 
Pascal  by  M.  Cousin,  of  no  less  than  universal  and  hopeless 
scepticism  ;  —  from  which,  as  is  said,  he  took  refuge  in  faith 
by  a  blind  effort  of  will,  without  evidence,  and  in  utter  de 
spair  of  obtaining  it.  One  or  two  brief  citations  will  show 
the  extent  to  which  this  charge  is  pushed.  "  Ce  dessein  [des 
4  Pensees,']  je  Pai  demontre  dans  ce  Rapport,  etait  d'accabler 
la  philosophic  Cartesienne,  et  avec  elle  toute  philosophic, 
sous  le  scepticisms,  pour  ne  laisser  a  la  foi  naturelle  de 
Phomme  d'autre  asile  que  la  religion.  Or  en  cela,  Padver- 
saire  des  Jesuites  en  devient,  sans  s'en  douter,  le  serviteur 
et  le  soldat."  *  — "  Lui  aussi,  il  a  pour  principe  que  le 

*  Bapport,  pp.  xiii.,  xviii. 


178  GENIUS   AND   WHITINGS    OF    PASCAL. 

Pyrrhonisme  est  le  vrai" —  "II  est  sceptique,  et,  comme 
Huet,  il  se  propose  de  conduire  Phomme  a  la  foi  par  la  route 
du  scepticisme."  *  M.  Cousin  even  goes  the  length  of  saying 
that  Pascal's  religion  "  was  not  the  solid  and  pleasant  fruit 
which  springs  from  the  union  of  reason  and  feeling  —  de  la 
raison  et  du  cceur  —  in  a  soul  well  constituted  and  wisely 
cultivated  ;  it  is  a  bitter  fruit,  reared  in  a  region  desolated  by 
doubt,  under  the  arid  breath  of  despair."  t  He  also  tells  us, 
that  "  the  very  depth  of  Pascal's  soul  was  a  universal  scep 
ticism,  from  which  he  could  find  no  refuge  except  in  a  volun 
tarily  blind  credulity."  "  Le  fond  meme  de  rdme  de  Pascal 
est  un  scepticisme  universel,  contre  lequel  il  ne  trouve  d^asile 
que  dans  unefoi  volontairement  aveugle" 

These  are  certainly  charges  which,  without  the  gravest 
and  most  decisive  proof,  ought  not  to  be  preferred  against 
any  man  ;  much  less  against  one  possessing  so  clear  and 
powerful  an  intellect  as  Pascal.  It  is,  in  fact,  the  most  de 
grading  picture  which  can  be  presented  of  any  mind  ;  for 
what  weakness  can  be  more  pitiable,  or  what  inconsistency 
more  gross,  than  that  of  a  man  who,  by  a  mere  act  of  will, 
—  if,  indeed,  such  a  condition  of  mind  be  conceivable,  — 
surrenders  himself  to  the  belief  of  the  most  stupendous  doc 
trines,  while  he  at  the  same  time  acknowledges  that  he  has 
no  proof  whatever  of  their  certainty  ? 

We  have  great  respect  for  M.  Cousin  as  a  philosopher 
and  historian  of  philosophy,  and  we  willingly  render  him 
the  homage  of  our  thanks  for  his  liberal  and  enlightened  sur 
vey  of  the  intellectual  philosophy  of  Scotland  ;  but  he  must 
excuse  us  for  dissenting  from,  and  freely  examining,  his 
startling  view  of  the  scepticism  of  Pascal.  That  charge 
we  do  not  hesitate  to  pronounce  unjust,  for  the  following 
reasons : — 

1.  It  appears  to  us  that  M.  Cousin  has  forgotten  that  Pas 
cal  by  no  means  denies  that  there  is  sufficient  evidence  of 

*  Rapport,  p.  xix.  t  Ibid.,  p.  162. 


GENIUS   AND    WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL.  179 

the  many  great  principles  to  which  scepticism  objects ;  he 
only  maintains  that  we  do  not  arrive  at  them  by  demonstra 
tion.  He  has  powerfully  vindicated  the  certainty  of  those 
intuitive  principles  which  are  not  ascertained  by  reasoning, 
but  are  presupposed  in  every  exercise  of  reasoning.  Let  us 
hear  him.  "  The  only  strong  point,"  says  he,  "  of  the  Dog 
matists  is,  that  we  cannot  consistently  with  honesty  and  sin 
cerity  doubt  our  own  intuitive  principles We  know 

the  truth,  not  only  by  reasoning,  but  by  feeling,  and  by  a 
vivid  and  luminous  power  of  direct  comprehension  ;  and  it 
is  by  this  last  faculty  that  we  discern  first  principles.  It  is 
vain  for  reasoning,  which  has  no  share  in  discovering  these 

principles,  to  attempt  subverting  them The  Pyrrho- 

nists  who  attempt  this  must  try  in  vain The  knowledge 

of  first  principles,  as  the  ideas  of  space,  time,  motion,  number, 
matter,  is  as  unequivocally  certain  as  any  that  reasoning 
imparts.  And,  after  all,  it  is  on  the  perceptions  of  feeling 
and  common  sense  that  reason  must  at  last  sustain  itself, 
and  base  its  argument Principles  are  perceived,  prop 
ositions  are  deduced  :  each  part  of  the  process  is  certain, 
though  in  different  modes.  And  it  is  as  ridiculous  that  rea 
son  should  require  of  feeling  and  perception  proofs  of  these 
first  principles  before  she  assents  to  them,  as  it  would  be 
that  perception  should  require  from  reason  an  intuitive  im 
pression  of  all  the  propositions  at  which  she  arrives.  This 
weakness,  therefore,  ought  only  to  humble  that  reason  which 
would  constitute  herself  the  judge  all  things,  but  not  to  inval 
idate  the  convictions  of  common  sense,  as  if  reason  *  only 
could  be  our  guide  and  teacher."  Can  he  who  thus  speaks 
be  a  "  universal  sceptic,"  when  it  is  the  peculiar  character 
istic  of  Pyrrhonism  —  that  is,  universal  scepticism  —  to  con 
trovert  the  certainty  of  principles  perceived  by  intuition,  and 

*  It  is  true  that,  in  these  and  many  similar  passages,  Pascal,  as  M. 
Cousin  rightly  observes,  often  employs  the  word  reason  as  if  it  were 
synonymous  with  reasoning.  But  this  only  respects  the  propriety  of  his 
expressions  ;  his  meaning  is  surely  tolerably  clear. 


180  GENIUS   AND    WRITINGS    OF   PASCAL. 

to  plume  itself  upon  having  successfully  done  this,  when  it 
has  shown  that  they  cannot  be  demonstrated  by  reasoning  ? 

But  let  us  hear  him  still  more  expressly  on  the  subject  of 
Pyrrhonism.  "  Here,  then,  is  open  war  proclaimed  amongst 
men.  Each  must  take  a  side  ;  must  necessarily  range  him 
self  with  the  Pyrrhonists  or  the  Dogmatists ;  for  he  who 
would  think  to  remain  neuter  is  a  Pyrrhonist  par  excellence. 
He  who  is  not  against  them  is  for  them.  What,  then,  must 
a  person  do  in  this  alternative  ?  Shall  he  doubt  of  every 
thing  ?  Shall  he  doubt  that  he  is  awake,  or  that  he  is  pinched 
or  burned  ?  Shall  he  doubt  that  he  doubts  ?  Shall  he  doubt 
that  he  is  ?  We  cannot  get  so  far  as  this  ;  and  I  hold  it  to 
be  a  fact,  that  there  never  has  been  an  absolute  and  perfect 
Pyrrhonist."  M.  Cousin  must  suppose  Pascal  to  have  made 
an  exception  in  favor  of  himself,  if  it  indeed  be  true  that  he 
was  a  "  universal  sceptic." 

2.  It  does  not  appear  to  us  that  M.  Cousin  has  sufficiently 
reflected,  that,  in  those  cases  in  which  conclusions  truly  in 
volve  processes  of  reasoning,  Pascal  would  not  deny  that  the 
preponderance  of  truth  rested  with  the  truths  he  believed, 
though  he  denied  the  demonstrative  nature  of  that  proof. 
And  he  applies  this  with  perfect  fairness  to  the  evidences  of 
Christianity,  as  well  as  to  the  truths  of  natural  theology.  It 
may  well  be,  that  minds  so  differently  constituted  as  those  of 
Pascal  and  Cousin  may  form  different  conclusions  as  to  the 
degree  of  success  which  may  attend  the  efforts  of  human 
reasoning ;  but  a  man  is  not  to  be  straightway  branded  with 
the  name  of  a  universal  sceptic,  because  he  believes  that 
there  are  very  few  subjects  on  which  evidence  can  be  said  to 
be  demonstrative.  The  more  deeply  a  man  reflects,  the 
fewer  will  he  think  the  subjects  on  which  this  species  of  cer 
tainty  can  be  obtained ;  and  the  study  neither  of  ancient  nor 
of  modern  philosophy  will  convince  him  that  he  is  far  wrong 
in  this  conclusion.  But  he  will  not,  for  all  that,  deny  that 
there  is  sufficient  evidence  on  all  the  more  important  subjects 
to  form  the  belief  and  determine  the  conduct  of  man,  —  evi- 


GENIUS    AND    WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL.  181 

dence  of  precisely  the  same  nature  with  that  which  does  form 
the  one,  and  does  determine  the  other,  in  all  the  ordinary  af 
fairs  of  life.  And  this  alone,  where  a  man  rejects  such  evi 
dence,  is  sufficient  to  condemn  him  ;  for  what  right  has  he  to 
decline,  in  the  more  important  instances,  a  species  and  de 
gree  of  evidence  which  he  never  hesitates  to  act  upon  in  all 
other  cases  ? 

Now,  that  Pascal  believed  that  there  was  sufficient  evidence 
of  this  character,  for  all  the  fundamental  truths  of  religion, 
is  manifest  from  many  express  declarations.  "  There  is 
light  enough,"  says  he,  "  for  those  whose  sincere  wish  is  to 
see  ;  and  darkness  enough  to  confound  those  of  an  opposite 
disposition."  *  Of  Christianity  he  says  :  "  It  is  impossible  to 
see  all  the  proofs  of  this  religion  combined  in  one  view,  with 
out  feeling  that  they  have  a  force  which  no  reasonable  man 
can  withstand."  f  "  The  proofs  of  our  religion  are  not  of 
that  kind  that  we  can  say  they  are  geometrically  convincing. 

But  their  light  is  such  that  it  outshines,  or  at  the  least 

equals,  the  strongest  presumption  to  the  contrary :  so  much 
so,  that  sound  reason  never  can  determine  not  to  accept  the 
evidence,  and  probably  it  is  only  the  corruption  and  depravity 
of  the  heart  that  do."  It  is  not  without  reason  that  M.  Fau- 
gere  says,  in  reference  to  the  charge  of  scepticism  urged 
against  Pascal :  "  Faith  and  reason  may  equally  claim  him. 
If  they  sometimes  appear  to  clash  in  his  mind,  it  is  because 
he  wanted  time,  not  only  to  finish  the  work  on  which  he  was 
engaged,  but  even  to  complete  that  internal  revision,  —  son 
cBuvre  interieure,  —  which  is  a  kind  of  second  creation  of  ge 
nius  ;  and  to  melt  into  one  harmonious  whole  the  diverse  ele 
ments  of  his  thoughts Amongst  the  inedited  frag 
ments  of  Pascal  we  find  these  remarkable  lines  :  *  II  faut 
avoir  ces  trois  qualities  ;  Pyrrhonien,  geometre,  Chretien  sou- 
mis  ;  et  elles  s^accordent  et  se  temper ent  en  doutant  oil  il 
faut,  en  assurant  ou  il  faut,  en  se  soummettant  oil  il  fautS 

*  Tom.  II.  p.  151.  t  Ibid.,  p.  365. 

16 


182  GENIUS   AND   WRITINGS    OF   PASCAL. 

These  bold  words  comprise  the  entire  history  of  Pascal,  and 
express  in  brief  the  state  of  his  mind."  * 

3.  While  we  admit  that  the  severely  geometrical  cast  of 
Pascal's  mind,  as  well  as  his  gloomy  temperament,  have  led 
him  at  times  into  extravagant  expressions  on  this  subject,  so 
accomplished  a  critic  as  M.  Cousin  needs  not  be  told  that  it  is 
not  fair  to  take  such  expressions  alone,  and  in  their  utmost 
strictness,  if  they  can  be  confronted  with  others  which  mod 
ify  or  explain  them.  The  former,  in  common  candor,  are 
to  be  interpreted  only  in  connection  with  the  latter.  This  is 
the  course  we  always  pursue  in  interpreting  the  language  of 
writers  who  have  indulged  in  unlimited  propositions ;  and  if  it 
be  found  even  impossible  to  harmonize  certain  expressions, 
—  if  they  be  absolutely  contradictory,  —  all  we  feel  at  lib 
erty  to  do  is  to  affirm  the  inconsistency  of  the  writer ;  not  to 
assume  that  he  meant  all  that  could  possibly  be  implied  in 
the  one  class  of  expressions,  and  nothing  by  the  other.  We 
know  it  is  so  natural  for  an  author  of  much  imagination  or 
sensibility  to  give  an  inordinately  strong  expression  to  a  pres 
ent  thought  or  feeling,  and  to  forget  the  judge  in  the  advo 
cate,  that  he  must  be  taken  in  another  mood,  or  rather  in 
several,  if  we  wish  to  ascertain  the  true  mean  of  his  senti 
ments.  Pascal  has  in  one  of  his  "  Pensees  "  indicated  this 
only  reasonable  method  of  procedure. 

Now  M.  Cousin  is  surely  aware  of  the  fact,  that  the  ex 
pressions  to  which  he  has  given  such  an  unfavorable  inter 
pretation,  may  be  easily  confronted  with  others  of  a  differ 
ent  tendency.  He  himself,  indeed,  proclaims  it.  He  even 
says,  no  man  ever  contradicted  himself  more  than  Pascal. 
"  Jamais  homme  ne  s'est  plus  contredit."  "  Confounding," 
says  he,  "  reasoning  and  reason,  forgetting  that  he  has  him 
self  judiciously  discriminated  primary  and  indemonstrable 
truths  —  discovered  to  us  by  that  spontaneous  intuition  of 
reason  which  we  also  with  him  call  instinct,  sentiment,  feel- 

*  Tom.  I.  p.  Ixxvii.    Introduction. 


GENIUS   AND   WRITINGS    OF   PASCAL.  183 

ing  —  from  truths  which  are  deduced  from  them  by  the 
method  of  reasoning,  or  which  we  draw  from  experience  by 
induction  ;  —  forgetting  that  he  has  thus  himself  replied  be 
forehand  to  all  the  attacks  of  scepticism,  Pascal  demands  all 
these  principles  from  experience  and  reasoning,  and  by  that 
means,  without  much  trouble,  confounds  them  all."  *  Now 
we  do  not  stay  to  inquire  here  into  the  justness  of  the  latter 
part  of  this  representation ;  but  we  simply  ask,  Why  should 
all  the  "  replies  "  which,  as  our  author  admits,  "  Pascal  has 
himself  made  to  scepticism,"  go  for  nothing,  and  only  the 
sentences  in  which  he  appears  to  favor  it  be  remembered  ; 
and  not  only  remembered,  but  taken  as  the  sole  exponents  of 
his  opinions  ?  Surely  a  sceptic  might  as  well  take  the  oppo 
site  side,  and  say,  "  Alas  !  after  Pascal  seems  in  many  expres 
sions  to  have  conceded  much  to  scepticism,  he  forgets  all-  he 
had  said  ;  and  shows,  by  his  whole  talk  of  '  intuitive  truths,' 
and  'sentiment,'  and  'feeling,'  that  he  is  no  better  than  a 
dogmatist."  Might  we  not  say  to  the  two  objectors,  "  Wor 
thy  friends  !  you  are  the  two  knights  in  the  fable  ;  —  one  is 
looking  on  the  golden,  and  the  other  on  the  silver  side  of  the 
same  shield." 

4.  Nor  is  it  to  be  forgotten,  that,  while  such  a  mode  of  in 
terpretation  as  that  of  M.  Cousin  would  hardly  be  just  in  the 
case  of  any  work  of  any  author,  it  is  especially  unfair  to  ap 
ply  it  to  such  a  work,  or  rather  mere  materials  of  a  work,  as 
the  "  Pensees."  They  were,  we  are  to  recollect,  mere  notes 
for  Pascal's  own  use,  and  were  never  intended  to  be  published 
as  they  are.  Many  of  them  are  altogether  imperfect  and  un 
developed  ;  some  scarcely  intelligible.  It  is  impossible  to 
tell  with  what  modifications,  and  in  what  connection,  they 
would  have  stood  in  the  matured  form  which  the  master 
mind,  here  hastily  recording  them  for  private  reference, 
would  have  ultimately  given  them.  Nay,  there  can  scarcely 
be  a  doubt,  that  many  of  them  were  mere  objections  which 

*  Kapport,  p.  157. 


184  GENIUS   AND    WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL. 

Pascal  noted  for  refutation,  —  not  opinions  to  be  maintained 
by  him ;  and  this  in  many  places  may  be  not  obscurely  infer 
red  :  some,  again,  are  mere  quotations  from  Montaigne  and 
other  authors,  extracted  for  some  unknown  purpose,  but  not 
distinguished  in  these  private  memoranda  from  the  writer's 
own  expressions  ;  so  that  the  first  editors  of  the  "  Pensees  " 
actually  printed  them  in  some  cases  as  his.  And  lastly,  some 
were  dictated,  in  moments  of  sickness  and  pain,  to  an  old 
domestic,  who  has  scrawled  them  in  a  fashion  which  suffi 
ciently  shows  that  it  is  very  possible  that  some  errors  may  lie 
with  the  amanuensis.*  Yet  M.  Cousin,  while  straining  every 
expression  on  which  he  founds  his  charge  of  scepticism  to 
its  utmost  strictness  of  literal  meaning,  never  seems  to  have 
adverted  to  one  of  these  very  reasonable  considerations. 

5.  The  weight  which  any  deliberate  opinion  of  M.  Cousin 
must  reasonably  possess,  may  in  this  case  well  be  confronted 
with  that  of  Bayle  ;  whose  notorious  scepticism  would  have 
been  but  too  glad  to  find  an  ally  in  so  admired  a  genius  as 
Pascal,  had  there   been  any  plausible   pretext  on  which  to 
claim  him.     Yet  that  subtle  and  acute  critic  declares,  that 
Pascal  knew  perfectly  well  what  to  render  to  faith,  and  what 
to  reason. 

6.  In  our  judgment,  Pascal's  projected  work  is  itself  a  suffi 
cient  confutation  of  M.  Cousin's  supposition.     For,  did  ever 
man  before  meditate  an  elaborate  work  on  the  "  evidences  "  of 
truths  for  which  he  believed  no  evidence   but  a  blind  faith 
could  be  given  ? 

7.  We  maintain,  lastly,  that  even  if  it  be  proved  (which  is, 
doubtless,  very  true)  that  Pascal,  at  different  periods  and  in 
different  moods  of  mind,  formed  varying  estimates  of  the 
evidence  on  behalf  of  the  great  truths  in  which  he  was  so 


*  Of  one  of  these  expressions,  on  which  M.  Cousin  has  founded  much, 
M.  Faugere  says  :  "  Tout  ce  morceau,  dicte  a  une  personne  visiblement 
fort  peu  lettree,  presente  <ja  et  la  des  obscurites  qufviennent  sans  doute 
de  1'inexperience  du  secretaire."  —  Tom.  II.  p.  114. 


GENIUS  AND   WRITINGS   OF    PASCAL.  185 

sincere  a  believer,  or  even  (which  may  possibly  be  true) 
that  for  transient  intervals  he  doubted  the  conclusiveness  of 
that  evidence  altogether,  these  variations  would  be  far  from 
justifying  a  charge  of  "  universal  and  habitual  scepticism  "  ; 
—  such  momentary  differences  of  thought  and  mood  having 
been  notoriously  experienced  by  almost  all  great  minds. 
With  some  remarks  on  this  subject,  which  may  possibly  be 
serviceable  to  minds  peculiarly  liable  to  attacks  of  scepticism, 
and  calculated  to  teach  all  of  us  charity  in  judging  of  others, 
we  shall  close  the  present  essay. 

First,  then,  it  by  no  means  appears  that  a  momentary  inva 
sion  of  doubt,  or  even  of  scepticism,  is  inconsistent  with  a 
prevailing  and  habitual  faith,  founded  on  an  intelligent  con 
viction  of  a  preponderance  of  reasons  to  justify  it ;  though 
those  reasons  may  be  felt  to  fall  far  short  of  absolute  demon 
stration.  There  may  be  a  profound  impression  that  the  rea 
sons  which  sustain  habitual  belief  in  any  truth  established 
only  on  moral  evidence,  or  on  a  calculation  of  probabilities, 
are  so  varied  and  powerful  —  so  vast  in  their  sum  —  as  to 
leave,  in  ordinary  moods  of  mind,  no  doubt  as  to  the  conclu 
sions  to  which  they  point,  and  the  practical  course  of  conduct 
which  alone  they  can  justify.  And  yet  it  is  quite  true,  that 
from  the  infirmities  of  our  nature,  —  from  the  momentary 
strength  which  the  most  casual  circumstances  may  give  to 
opposing  objections,  —  from  the  depressing  influence  of  sor 
row,  of  a  trivial  indisposition,  of  a  transient  fit  of  melan 
choly,  of  impaired  digestion,  even  of  a  variation  of  the 
weather  (for  on  all  these  humiliating  conditions  does  the 
boasted  soundness  of  human  reason  depend),  —  a  man  shall 
for  an  hour  or  a  day  really  doubt  of  that  of  which  he  never 
doubted  yesterday,  and  of  which  he  would  be  ashamed  to 
doubt  to-morrow.  And  especially  is  this  the  case  in  those 
who,  like  Pascal,  possess  exquisite  sensibility,  or  are  liable  to 
fits  of  profound  depression.  As  they  look  upon  truth  through 
the  medium  of  cheerful  or  gloomy  feelings,  truth  herself  va 
ries  like  a  landscape,  as  seen  in  a  bright  sunshine  or  on  a 

16* 


186  GENIUS   AND   WHITINGS    OF    PASCAL. 

cloudy  day.  Pascal  himself,  in  those  reveries  in  which  he 
loved  to  indulge  on  the  mingled  "  greatness  and  misery  of 
man,"  has  frequently  depicted  the  dependence  of  the  most 
powerful  mind,  even  in  the  bare  exercise  of  its  exalted  fac 
ulties,  on  the  most  insignificant  circumstances.  We  have 
cited,  in  the  early  part  of  this  article,  one  striking  passage  to 
this  effect.  In  another  place  he  says :  "  Place  the  greatest 
philosopher  in  the  world  on  a  plank,  wider  than  is  absolutely 
necessary  for  safety,  and  yet,  if  there  is  a  precipice  below 
him,  though  reason  may  convince  him  of  his  security,  his 
imagination  will  prevail.  There  are  many  who  could  not 
even  bear  the  thought  of  it  without  paleness  and  agitation."  * 
Another  very  powerful  representation,  to  the  same  effect, 
may  be  found  on  the  same  page,  where,  after  describing  a 
"  venerable  judge,"  who  may  seem  "  under  the  control  of  a 
pure  and  dignified  wisdom,"  and  enumerating  several  petty 
trials  "  of  his  exemplary  gravity,"  Pascal  declares,  that,  let 
any  one  of  these  befall  him,  "  and  he  will  engage  for  the  loss 
of  the  judge's  self-possession." 

Nor  are  the  causes  which  disturb  the  exercise  of  the  reason 
merely  physical :  moral  causes  are  yet  more  powerful ;  as  we 
wish,  hope,  fear,  humiliating  as  the  fact  is,  so  do  we  proceed 
to  judge  of  evidence.  Reason,  that  vaunted  guide  of  life, 
nowhere  exists  as  a  pure  and  colorless  light,  but  is  perpetually 
tinctured  by  the  medium  through  which  it  passes ;  it  flows  in 
upon  us  through  painted  windows.  And  thus  it  is,  that  per 
haps  scarcely  once  in  ten  thousand  times,  probably  never,  does 
man  deliver  a  judgment  on  evidence  simply  and  absolutely 
judicial.  "  The  heart,"  says  Pascal,  with  great  truth,  "  has 
its  reasons,  which  reason  cannot  apprehend."  "  The  will," 
says  he,  in  another  place,  "  is  one  of  the  principal  instru 
ments  of  belief;  not  that  it  creates  belief,  but  because  things 
are  true  or  false  according  to  the  aspect  in  which  we  regard 
them.  The  will,  which  is  more  inclined  to  one  thing  than 

*  Tom.  II.  p.  49. 


GENIUS   AND   WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL.  187 

another,  turns  away  the  mind  from  the  consideration  of  those 
things  which  it  loves  not  to  contemplate  ;  and  thus  the  mind, 
moving  with  the  will,  stops  to  observe  that  which  it  approves, 
and  forms  its  judgment  by  what  it  sees." 

Most  emphatically  is  this  the  case,  where  the  moral  state  is 
habitually  opposed  to  the  conclusions  to  which  the  preponder 
ance  of  evidence  points.  This  is  so  notorious,  in  relation  to 
the  fundamental  truths  of  morals  and  religion,  that  there  are 
probably  few  who  really  disbelieve  them,  or  profess  to  do  so, 
who  (if  they  examine  themselves  at  all)  are  not  conscious 
that  the  "  wish  is  father  to  the  thought."  And  what  is  true 
of  habitual  states  of  moral  feeling  is  also,  in  proportion,  true 
of  more  transient  states. 

Certain,  however,  it  is,  that  from  one  or  other  of  the  above 
causes,  or  from  a  combination  of  several,  neither  has  the  un 
derstanding  the  absolute  dominion  in  the  formation  of  our 
judgments,  nor  does  she  occupy  an  "  unshaken  throne."  A 
seditious  rabble  of  doubts,  from  time  to  time,  rise  to  dispute 
her  empire.  Even  where  the  mind,  in  its  habitual  states,  is 
unconscious  of  any  remaining  doubt,  —  where  it  reposes  in 
a  vast  preponderance  of  evidence  in  favor  of  this  or  that  con 
clusion, —  there  may  yet  be,  from  one  or  other  of  the  dis 
turbing  causes  adverted  to,  a  momentary  eclipse  of  that  light 
in  which  the  soul  seemed  to  dwell  ;  a  momentary  vibration 
of  that  judgment  which  we  so  often  flattered  ourselves  was 
poised  for  ever.  Yet  this  no  more  argues  the  want  of  habit 
ual  faith,  than  the  variations  of  the  compass  argue  the  sever 
ance  of  the  connection  between  the  magnet  and  the  pole  ; 
or  than  the  oscillations  of  the  "  rocking  stone  "  argue  that 
the  solid  mass  can  be  heaved  from  its  bed.  A  child  may 
shake  it,  but  a  giant  cannot  overturn  it. 

And,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  there  are,  we  apprehend,  very 
few  who  have  not  been  conscious  of  sudden  and  almost  un 
accountable  disturbances  of  the  intellectual  atmosphere,  un 
accountable  even  after  the  equilibrium  has  been  restored,  and 
the  air  has  again  become  serene  and  tranquil.  In  these  mo- 


188  GENIUS   AND   WRITINGS   OF   PASCAL. 

mentary  fluctuations,  whether  arising  from  moral  or  physical 
causes,  or  from  causes  of  both  kinds,  —  from  nervous  depres 
sion,  or  a  fit  of  melancholy,  or  an  attack  of  pain,  or  harassing 
anxieties,  or  the  loss  of  friends,  or  their  misfortunes  and  ca 
lamities,  or  signal  triumphs  of  baseness,  or  signal  discomfi 
tures  of  virtue,  or,  above  all,  from  conscious  neglect  of  duty, 
—  a  man  shall  sometimes  feel  as  if  he  had  lost  sight  even  of 
those  primal  truths  on  which  he  has  been  accustomed  to  gaze 
as  on  the  stars  of  the  firmament,  —  bright,  serene,  and  un 
changeable  ;  even  such  truths  as  the  existence  of  God,  his 
paternal  government  of  the  world,  and  the  divine  origin  of 
Christianity.  In  these  moods,  objections,  which  he  thought 
had  long  since  been  dead  and  buried,  start  again  into  sudden 
existence.  They  do  more  ;  like  the  escaped  genius  of  the 
"  Arabian  Nights,"  who  rises  from  the  little  bottle  in  which 
he  had  been  imprisoned,  in  the  shape  of  a  thin  smoke,  which 
finally  assumes  gigantic  outlines  and  towers  to  the  skies,  these 
flimsy  objections  dilate  into  monstrous  dimensions,  and  fill  the 
whole  sphere  of  mental  vision.  The  arguments  by  which 
we  have  been  accustomed  to  combat  them  seem  to  have  van 
ished,  or,  if  they  appear  at  all,  look  diminished  in  force  and 
vividness.  If  we  may  pursue  the  allusion  we  have  just  made, 
we  even  wonder  how  such  mighty  forms  should  ever  have 
been  compressed  into  so  narrow  a  space.  Bunyan  tells  us, 
that  when  his  pilgrims,  under  the  perturbation  produced  by 
previous  terrible  visions,  turned  the  perspective  glass  towards 
the  Celestial  City  from  the  summits  of  the  Delectable  Moun 
tains,  "  their  hands  shook  so  that  they  could  not  steadily  look 
through  the  "  instrument ;  "  yet  they  thought  they  saw  some 
thing  like  the  gate,  and  also  some  of  the  glory  of  the  place." 
It  is  even  so  with  many  of  the  moods  in  which  other  "  pil 
grims  "  attempt  to  gaze  in  the  same  direction  ;  a  deep  haze 
seems  to  have  settled  over  the  golden  pinnacles  and  the  "  gates 
of  pearl "  ;  they,  for  a  moment,  doubt  whether  what  others 
declare  they  have  seen,  and  what  they  flatter  themselves  they 
have  themselves  seen,  be  any  thing  else  than  a  gorgeous  vis- 


GENIUS   AND    WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL.  189 

ion  in  the  clouds  ;  and  "  faith  "  is  no  longer  "  the  substance 
of  things  hoped  for,  and  the  evidence  of  things  not  seen." 

And  as  there  are  probably  few  who  have  profoundly  inves 
tigated  the  evidences  of  truth,  who  have  not  felt  themselves 
for  a  moment  at  least,  and  sometimes  for  a  yet  longer  space, 
as  if  on  the  verge  of  universal  scepticism,  and  about  to  be 
driven  forth,  without  star  or  compass,  on  a  boundless  ocean 
of  doubt  and  perplexity,  so  these  states  of  feeling  are  pecu 
liarly  apt  to  infest  the  highest  order  of  minds.  For  if,  on  the 
one  hand,  these  can  best  discern  and  estimate  the  evidence 
which  proves  any  truth,  they,  on  the  other,  can  see  most 
clearly,  and  feel  most  strongly,  the  nature  and  extent  of  the 
objections  which  oppose  it ;  while  they  are,  at  the  same  time, 
just  as  liable  as  the  vulgar  to  the  disturbing  influences  already 
adverted  to.  This  liability  is  of  course  doubled,  when  its 
subject,  as  in  the  case  of  Pascal,  labors  under  the  disadvan 
tage  of  a  gloomy  temperament. 

A  circumstance  which  in  these  conflicts  of  mind  often 
gives  sceptical  objections  an  undue  advantage  is,  that  the 
great  truths  which  it  is  more  especially  apt  to  assail  are  gen 
erally  the  result  of  an  accumulation  of  proof  by  induction, 
or  are  even  dependent  on  quite  separate  trains  of  argument. 
The  mind,  therefore,  cannot  comprehend  them  at  a  glance, 
and  feel  at  once  their  integrated  force,  but  must  examine 
them  in  detail  by  successive  acts  of  mind,  — just  as  we  take 
the  measurement  of  magnitudes  too  vast  to  be  seen  at  once  in 
successive  small  portions.  The  existence  of  God,  the  moral 
government  of  the  world,  the  divine  origin  of  Christianity, 
are  all  truths  of  this  stamp.  Pascal,  in  one  of  his  "  Pensees," 
refers  to  this  infirmity  of  the  logical  faculties.  He  justly 
observes  :  "  To  have  a  series  of  proofs  incessantly  before 
the  mind,  is  beyond  our  power."  JD'ew  avoir  toujours  Us 
preuves  presentes,  c'est  trop  d?  affaire. 

From  the  inability  of  the  mind  to  retain  in  perpetuity,  or 
to  comprehend  at  a  glance,  a  long  chain  of  evidence,  or  the 
total  effect  of  various  lines  of  argument,  Pascal  truly  observes, 


190  GENIUS   AND   WRITINGS    OF   PASCAL. 

that  it  is  not  sufficient  for  the  security  of  our  convictions,  and 
their  due  influence  over  our  belief  and  practice,  that  we  have 
proved  them  once  for  all  by  a  process  of  reasoning  ;  —  they 
must  be,  if  possible,  tinctured  and  colored  by  the  imagination, 
informed  and  animated  by  feeling,  and  rendered  vigorous  and 
practical  by  habit.  His  words  are  well  worth  citing :  "  Rea 
son  acts  slowly,  and  with^so  many  principles  which  it  is  ne 
cessary  should  be  always  present,  that  dt  is  perpetually  drop 
ping  asleep,  and  is  lost  for  want  of  having  all  its  principles 
present  to  it.  The  affections  do  not  act  thus  ;  they  act  in 
stantaneously  and  are  always  ready  for  action.  It  is  neces 
sary,  therefore,  to  imbue  our  faith  with  feeling,  otherwise  it 
will  be  always  vacillating."  * 

It  will  not,  of  course,  be  imagined  that,  in  the  observations 
just  now  made,  we  are  disposed  to  be  the  apologists  of  scepti 
cism  ;  or  even,  so  far  as  it  is  yielded  to,  of  that  transient 
doubt  to  which  the  most  powerful  minds  are  not  only  liable, 
but  liable  in  defiance  of  what  are  ordinarily  their  strong  con 
victions.  So  far  as  such  states  of  mind  are  involuntary,  and 
for  an  instant  they  often  are,  (till,  in  fact,  the  mind  collects  it 
self,  and  repels  them,)  they  are  of  course  the  object,  not  of 
blame,  but  of  pity.  So  far  as  they  are  dependent  upon  fluctu 
ations  of  feeling,  or  upon  physical  causes  which  we  can  at  all 
modify  or  control,  it  is  our  duty  to  summon  the  mind  to  resist 
the  assault,  and  to  reflect  on  the  nature  of  that  evidence  which 
has  so  often  appeared  to  us  little  less  than  demonstrative. 

We  are  not,  then,  the  apologists  of  scepticism,  or  any  thing 
approaching  it ;  we  are  merely  stating  a  psychological  fact, 
for  the  proof  of  which  the  appeal  lies  to  the  recorded  con 
fessions  of  many  great  minds,  and  to  the  experience  of  those 
who  have  reflected  deeply  enough  on  any  large  and  difficult 
subject,  to  know  what  can  be  said  for  or  against  it. 

The  asserted  fact  is,  that  habitual  belief  of  the  sincerest 
and  strongest  character  is  sometimes  checkered  with  tran- 

*  Vol.  II.  pp.  175, 176. 


GENIUS   AND   WRITINGS   OF   PASCAL.  191 

sient  fits  of  doubt  and  misgiving  ;  and  that  even  where  there 
is  no  actual  disbelief,  —  no,  not  for  a  moment,  —  the  mind 
may,  in  some  of  its  moods,  form  a  very  diminished  estimate 
of  the  evidence  on  which  belief  is  founded,  and  grievously 
understate  it  accordingly.  We  believe  that  both  these  states 
of  mind  were  occasionally  experienced  by  Pascal,  —  the  latter, 
however,  more  frequently  than  the  former ;  and  hence  origi 
nated,  as  we  apprehend,  those  passages  in  which  he  speaks 
of  the  evidence  for  the  existence  of  a  God,  or  for  the  truth  of 
Christianity,  as  less  conclusive  than  he  ordinarily  believed,  or 
than  he  has  at  other  times  declared  it.  At  such  times  the 
clouds  may  be  supposed  to  have  hung  low  upon  this  lofty  mind. 

So  little  inconsistent  with  a  habit  of  intelligent  faith  are 
such  transient  invasions  of  doubt,  or  such  diminished  percep 
tions  of  the  evidence  of  truth,  that  it  may  even  be  said  that  it 
is  only  those  who  have  in  some  measure  experienced  them, 
who  can  be  said,  in  the  highest  sense,  to  believe  at  all.  He 
who  has  never  had  a  doubt,  who  believes  what  he  believes 
for  reasons  which  he  thinks  as  irrefragable  (if  that  be  pos 
sible)  as  those  of  a  mathematical  demonstration,  ought  not 
to  be  said  so  much  to  believe  as  to  know ;  his  belief  is  to  him 
knowledge,  and  his  mind  stands  in  the  same  relation  to  it, 
however  erroneous  and  absurd  that  belief  may  be.  It  is 
rather  he  whose  faith  is  exercised  —  not  indeed  without  his 
reason,  but  without  the  full  satisfaction  of  his  reason  —  with 
a  knowledge  and  appreciation  of  formidable  objections, — 
it  is  this  man  who  may  most  truly  be  said  intelligently  to 
believe. 

While  it  is  true  that  we  are  called  upon  to  receive  the 
great  truths  of  Theology,  whether  natural  or  revealed,  on 
evidence  which  is  less  than  demonstrative,  we  are  not  to 
forget  that  no  subjects  out  of  the  sciences  of  magnitude  and 
number  admit  of  any  such  demonstration.  We  are  required 
to  do  no  more  in  religion,  than  we  are  in  fact  necessitated  to 
do  in  all  the  affairs  of  common  life  ;  that  is,  to  form  our 
conclusions  upon  a  sincere  and  diligent  investigation  of  moral 


192 


GENIUS    AND    WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL. 


evidence.  And,  after  all,  such  an  arrangement  is  not  only 
in  harmonious  analogy  with  all  the  conditions  of  our  ordi 
nary  life,  but,  if  the  present  world  be  indeed  a  state  of  moral 
probation,  —  if  it  be  designed  to  test  our  diligence  and  sin 
cerity,  to  teach  us  what  is  so  suitable  in  a  finite  and  created 
being,  a  submissive  and  confiding  posture  of  mind  towards 
the  Infinite  Creator,  —  such  an  arrangement  is  essential  to 
our  course  of  moral  discipline  and  education.  If  we  are 
required  to  believe  nothing  but  what  it  is  impossible  that  we 
should  doubt,  —  that  is,  nothing  but  what  it  would  be  a  contra 
diction  to  deny,  —  where  would  be  the  proof  of  our  willing 
ness  to  believe  on  the  bare  assurance  of  wisdom  and  knowl 
edge  superior  to  our  own  ?  Wise  men  assuredly  consider 
it  as  a  most  important  element  in  the  education  of  their  own 
children,  not,  indeed,  that  they  should  be  taught  to  believe 
what  they  are  told  without  any  reason,  (and  if  they  have 
been  properly  trained,  a  just  confidence  in  the  assurances  of 
their  superiors  in  knowledge  will  on  many  subjects  be  reason 
sufficient,)  yet  upon  evidence  far  less  than  demonstration  ; 
indeed,  upon  evidence  far  less  than  they  will  be  able  to  ap 
preciate,  when  the  lapse  of  a  few  brief  years  has  trans 
formed  them  from  children  into  men.  We  certainly  expect 
them  to  believe  many  things  as  facts  which  as  yet  they  can 
not  fully  comprehend,  —  nay,  which  they  tell  us  are,  in  ap 
pearance,  paradoxical  ;  and  to  rest  satisfied  with  the  assur 
ance,  that  it  is  in  vain  for  us  to  attempt  to  explain  the  evi 
dence  till  they  get  older  and  wiser.  We  are  accustomed  even 
to  augur  the  worst  results  as  to  the  future  course  and  conduct 
of  a  youth  who  has  not  learned  to  exercise  thus  much  of 
practical  faith,  and  who  flippantly  rejects,  on  the  score  of 
his  not  being  able  to  comprehend  them,  truths  of  which  he 
yet  has  greater  evidence,  though  not  direct  evidence,  of  their 
being  truths,  than  he  has  of  the  contrary.  Now,  u  if  we 
have  had  earthly  fathers,  and  have  given  them  reverence  " 
after  this  fashion,  and  when  we  have  become  men  have  ap 
plauded  our  submission  as  appropriate  to  our  condition  of 


GENIUS    AND   WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL.  193 

dependence,  "  shall  we  not  much  rather  be  subject  to  the 
Father  of  spirits,  and  live  ?  " 

If,  then,  the  present  be  a  scene  of  moral  education  and 
discipline,  it  seems  fit  in  itself  that  the  evidence  of  the  truths 
we  believe  should  be  checkered  with  difficulties  and  liable 
to  objections  ;  —  not  strong  enough  to  force  assent,  nor  so 
obscure  as  to  elude  sincere  investigation.  God,  according  to 
the  memorable  aphorism  of  Pascal  already  cited,  has  afforded 
sufficient  light  to  those  whose  object  is  to  see,  and  left  suffi 
cient  obscurity  to  perplex  those  who  have  no  such  wish.  All 
that  seems  necessary  or  reasonable  to  expect  is,  that,  as  we 
are  certainly  not  called  upon  to  believe  any  thing  without 
reason,  nor  without  a  preponderance  of  reason,  so  the  evi 
dence  shall  be  such  as  our  faculties  are  capable  of  dealing 
with  ;  and  that  the  objections  shall  be  only  such  as  equally 
baffle  us  upon  any  other  hypothesis,  or  are  insoluble  because 
they  transcend  altogether  the  limits  of  the  human  under 
standing  ;  which  last  circumstance  can  be  no  valid  reason, 
apart  from  other  grounds,  either  for  accepting  or  rejecting  a 
given  dogma.  Now,  we  contend,  that  it  is  in  this  equitable 
way  that  God  has  dealt  with  us  as  moral  agents,  in  relation 
to  all  the  great  truths  which  lie  at  the  basis  of  religion  and 
morals  ;  and,  we  may  add,  in  relation  to  the  divine  origin 
of  Christianity.  The  evidence  is  all  of  such  a  nature  as  we 
are  accustomed  every  day  to  deal  with  and  to  act  upon  ; 
while  the  objections  are  either  such  as  reappear  in  every 
other  theory,  or  turn  on  difficulties  absolutely  beyond  the 
limits  of  the  human  faculties.  Take,  for  example,  the  prin 
cipal  argument  which  proves  the  existence  of  God  ;  the  argu 
ment  which  infers  from  the  traces  of  intelligent  design  in  the 
universe,  the  existence  of  a  wise  and  powerful  author.  In  ap 
plying  this  principle,  man  only  acts  as  he  acts  every  day  of 
his  life  in  other  cases.  He  acts  on  a  principle  which,  if  he 
were  to  doubt,  or  even  affect  to  doubt,  he  would  be  laughed 
at  by  his  fellow-men  as  a  ridiculous  pedant,  or  a  crazy  met 
aphysician.  Whether  indications  of  design,  countless  as 
17 


194  GENIUS   AND   WRITINGS    OF   PASCAL. 

they  are  inimitable,  with  which  the  whole  universe  is  in 
scribed,  are  likely  to  be  the  result  of  chance,  is  a  question 
which  turns  on  principles  of  evidence  with  which  man  is  so 
familiar  that  he  cannot  adopt  the  affirmative  without  contra 
dicting  all  his  judgments  in  every  other  analogous,  or  similar, 
or  conceivable  case.  On  the  other  hand,  the  objections  to 
the  conclusion  that  there  is  some  Eternal  Being  of  illimitable 
power  and  wisdom,  are  precisely  of  the  nature  we  have  men 
tioned.  A  man  makes  a  difficulty,  we  will  suppose,  (as  well 
he  may,)  of  conceiving  that  which  has  existed  from  eternity  ; 
but,  as  something  certainly  exists  now,  the  denial  of  the 
existence  of  such  a  Being  does  not  relieve  from  that  diffi 
culty,  unless  the  objector  plunges  into  another  equally  great, 

—  that  of  supposing  it  possible  for  the  universe  to  have  sprung 
into  existence  without  a  cause  at  all.     This  difficulty,  then, 
is  one  which  reappears  under  any  hypothesis.     Again,  we 
will  suppose  him   to   make  a  difficulty  of  the  ideas  of  self- 
subsistence,  —  of  omnipresence   without  extension   of  parts, 

—  of  power  which  creates   out  of  nothing,  and  which  acts 
simply  by  volition,  —  of  a  knowledge  cognizant  of  each  thing 
and  of  all  its  relations  (actual  and  possible,  past,  present,  and 
to  come)  to  every  other  thing,   at  every  point  of  illimitable 
space,  and  in  every  moment  of  endless  duration.     But  then 
these  are  difficulties,  the  solution  of  which  clearly  transcends 
the  limits  of  the  human   understanding ;   and   to  deny   the 
doctrines  which  seem  established  by  evidence  which  we  can 
appreciate,   because  we   cannot  solve   difficulties   which   lie 
altogether  beyond   our  capacities,  seems  like  resolving  that 
nothing  shall  be  true  but  what  we  can  fully  comprehend,  —  a 
principle,  again,  which,  in  numberless  other  cases,  we  neither 
can  nor  pretend  to  act  upon. 

It  is  much  the  same  with  the  /evidences  of  Christianity. 
Whether  a  certain  amount  and  complexity  of  testimony  are 
likely  to  be  false  ;  whether  it  is  likely  that  not  one  but  a 
number  of  men  would  endure  ignominy,  persecution,  and 
the  last  extremities  of  torture,  in  support  of  an  unprofitable 


GENIUS   AND   WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL.  195 

lie  ;  whether  such  an  original  fiction  as  Christianity  —  if  it 
be  fiction  —  is  likely  to  have  been  the  production  of  Galilean 
peasants  ;  whether  any  thing  so  sublime  was  to  be  expected 
from  fools,  or  any  thing  so  holy  from  knaves  ;  whether  illit 
erate  fraud  was  likely  to  be  equal  to  such  a  wonderful  fab 
rication  ;  whether  infinite  artifice  may  be  expected  from  ig 
norance,  or  a  perfectly  natural  and  successful  assumption  of 
truth  from  imposture;  —  these  and  a  multitude  of  the  like 
questions  are  precisely  of  the  same  nature,  however  they 
may  be  decided,  with  those  with  which  the  historian  and  the 
advocate,  judges,  and  courts  of  law  are  every  day  required 
to  deal.  On  the  other  hand,  whether  miracles  have  ever 
been,  or  are  ever  likely  to  be,  admitted  in  the  administration 
of  the  universe,  is  a  question  on  which  it  would  demand  a 
far  more  comprehensive  knowledge  of  that  administration 
than  we  can  possibly  possess,  to  justify  an  a  priori  decision. 
That  they  are  possible  is  all  that  is  required  ;  and  that  no 
consistent  theist  can  deny.  Other  difficulties  of  Christianity, 
as  Bishop  Butler  has  so  clearly  shown,  baffle  us  on  every 
other  hypothesis  ;  they  meet  us  as  much  in  the  "  constitu 
tion  of  nature  "  as  in  the  pages  of  revelation,  and  cannot 
consistently  be  pleaded  against  Christianity  without  being 
equally  fatal  to  Theism. 

There  are  two  things,  we  will  venture  to  say,  at  which  the 
philosophers  of  some  future  age  will  stand  equally  astonished  ; 
the  one  is,  that  any  man  should  have  been  called  upon  to 
believe  any  mystery,  whether  of  philosophy  or  religion,  with 
out  a  preponderance  of  evidence  of  a  nature  which  he  can 
grasp,  or  on  the  mere  ipse  dixit  of  a  fallible  creature  like 
himself-;  the  other,  that,  where  there  is  such  evidence,  man 
should  reject  a  mystery,  merely  because  it  is  one.  This  last, 
perhaps,  will  be  regarded  as  the  more  astonishing  of  the  two. 
That  man,  who  lives  in  a  dwelling  of  clay,  and  looks  out 
upon  the  illimitable  universe  through  such  tiny  windows,  — 
who  stands,  as  Pascal  sublimely  says,  between  "  two  infini 
tudes,"  —  who  is  absolutely  surrounded  by  mysteries,  which 


196  GENIUS   AND    WRITINGS    OF    PASCAL. 

he  overlooks  only  because  he  is  so  familiar  with  them,  — 
should  doubt  a  proposition  (otherwise  well  sustained)  from  its 
intrinsic  difficulty,  does  not  seem  very  reasonable.  But  when 
we  further  reflect,  that  that  very  mind,  which  thus  erects  it 
self  into  a  standard  of  all  things,  is  most  ignorant  even  of  that 
which  it  ought  to  know  best,  —  itself,  —  and  finds  there  the 
most  inscrutable  of  all  mysteries  ;  —  that  when  asked  to  de 
clare  what  itself  is,  it  is  obliged  to  confess  that  it  knows  noth 
ing  about  the  matter,  —  nothing  either  of  its  own  essence  or 
its  mode  of  operation ;  that  it  is  sometimes  inclined  to  think 
itself  material,  and  sometimes  immaterial  ;  that  it  cannot 
quite  come  to  a  conclusion  whether  the  body  really  exists 
or  is  a  phantom,  or  in  what  way  (if  the  body  really  exist) 
the  intimate  union  between  the  two  is  maintained  ;  —  that  it 
is  perplexed  beyond  expression  even  to  conceive  how  these 
phenomena  can  be  reconciled, —  proclaiming  it  to  be  an 
almost  equal  contradiction  to  suppose  that  Matter  can  think, 
or  the  Soul  be  material,  or  a  connection  maintained  between 
two  totally  different  substances,  and  yet  admitting  that  one 
of  these  must  be  true,  though  it  cannot  satisfactorily  deter 
mine  which  ;  —  when  we  reflect  on  all  this,  surely  we  cannot 
but  feel  that  the  spectacle  of  so  ignorant  a  thing  refusing  to 
believe  a  proposition  merely  because  it  is  above  its  compre 
hension,  is  of  all  paradoxes  the  most  paradoxical,  and  of  all 
absurdities  the  most  ludicrous  ! 


SACRED  ELOQUENCE :  THE  BRITISH  PULPIT.* 


ABOUT  fifteen  years  ago  our  readers  were  presented  with 
a  critique  on  "  French  Sermons,"  concluding  with  an  intima 
tion  that  at  some  future  period  the  subject  would  be  resumed, 
with  a  special  reference  to  the  British  pulpit. t  In  that  article 
surprise  was  expressed  that  there  should  be  so  small  a  pro 
portion  of  sermons  destined  to  live  ;  —  that  out  of  the  mil 
lion  and  upwards,  preached  annually  throughout  the  empire, 
there  should  be  so  very  few  that  are  remembered  three  whole 
days  after  they  are  delivered,  —  fewer  still  that  are  commit 
ted  to  the  press,  —  scarcely  one  that  is  not  in  a  few  years 
absolutely  forgotten.  "  If  any  one,"  it  was  added,  "  were, 
for  the  first  time,  informed  what  preaching  was,  —  if,  for  ex 
ample,  one  of  the  ancient  critics  had  been  told  that  the  time 
would  come  when  vast  multitudes  of  persons  should  assemble 
regularly,  to  be  addressed,  in  the  midst  of  their  devotions* 
upon  the  most  sacred  truths  of  a  religion  sublime  beyond  all 
the  speculations  of  philosophers,  yet  in  all  its  most  important 
points  simple,  and  of  the  easiest  apprehension  ;  that  with 
those  truths  were  to  be  mingled  discussions  of  the  whole  cir 
cle  of  human  duties,  according  to  a  system  of  morality  singu- 

*  "  Edinburgh  Keview,"  October,  1840. 

Sermons  to  a  Country  Congregation.  By  AUGUSTUS  WILLIAM  HARE, 
late  Fellow  of  New  College,  and  Rector  of  Alton  Barnes.  2  vols.  8vo. 
London.  1839. 

t  No.LXXXIX.,pp.  147,  148. 
17* 


198  SACRED   ELOQUENCE  : 

larly  pure  and  attractive ;  that  the  more  dignified  and  the 
more  interesting  parts  of  national  affairs  were  not  to  be  ex 
cluded  from  the  discourse  ;  that,  in  short,  the  most  elevat 
ing,  the  most  touching,  and  the  most  interesting  of  all  topics 
were  to  be  the  subject-matter  of  the  address,  directed  to  per 
sons  sufficiently  versed  in  them,  and  assembled  only  from  the 
desire  they  felt  to  hear  them  handled,  —  surely  the  conclusion 
would  at  once  have  been  drawn,  that  such  occasions  must 
train  up  a  race  of  the  most  consummate  orators,  and  that  the 
effusions  to  which  they  gave  birth  must  needs  cast  all  other 

rhetorical  compositions  into  the  shade How,  then, 

comes  it  to  pass,  that  instances  are  so  rare  of  eminent  elo 
quence  in  the  pulpit  ?  " 

Though  we  are  willing  to  believe  that  some  improvement 
in  this  branch  of  eloquence  is  gradually  taking  place,  we  are 
still  of  opinion  that  the  above  question  is  as  pertinent  as  ever. 
It  seems  proper,  therefore,  to  investigate  the  causes  of  so  sin 
gular  a  phenomenon,  and  to  urge  upon  those  who  are  in 
trusted  with  so  powerful  an  instrument  of  instruction  as  the 
Pulpit,  the  duty  of  endeavoring  to  turn  it  to  better  account. 

To  this  important  subject  we  propose  to  devote  the  present 
essay,  premising  that  it  is  not  at  all  our  intention  to  discuss 
any  doctrinal  questions,  or  to  examine  how  much  of  truth  or 
error  there  may  be  in  any  given  system  of  religious  belief : 
we  consider  only  the  general  conditions  on  which  all  religious 
instruction  (presupposing  it  to  be  sound)  should  be  conveyed  ; 
and  especially  the  style  and  the  manner  peculiarly  appropri 
ated  to  this  department  of  public  speaking. 

Without  departing  from  the  above  resolution,  we  may, 
however,  be  allowed  to  make  one  obvious  remark,  even  in 
relation  to  what  ought  to  be  the  substance  of  that  eloquence 
of  which  we  propose  more  particularly  to  consider  only  the 
form.  It  is  this  :  that,  whatever  diversities  of  opinion  and  of 
doctrine  it  may  present,  it  is,  of  course,  implied  that  there  are 
limits  to  these  diversities.  We  cannot  expect  that  any  sys 
tem  will  produce  its  proper  effects,  however  eloquent  and 


THE    BRITISH    PULPIT.  199 

forcible  the  form  in  which  it  is  professedly  exhibited,  unless 
its  essential  peculiarities  be  preserved.  A  Mollah  must  not 
preach  the  doctrines  of  a  Brahmin,  if  he  wishes  to  see  what 
are  the  genuine  results  of  Islamism  ;  nor  a  Pundit  interpret  his 
sacred  books  by  the  Koran  of  the  Prophet.  In  the  same 
manner,  if  the  Christian  preacher  (as  was  too  often  the  case 
in  times  that  are  past)  be  nothing  more  than  what  Bishop 
Horsley  calls  "  an  ape  of  Epictetus,"  —  a  bad  personation 
of  Seneca  tricked  out  in  a  gown  and  cassock,  —  or  a  doctor 
of  metaphysics,  who,  by  some  strange  blunder,  has  mistaken 
the  church  for  the  lecture-room,  —  we  cannot  rationally  ex 
pect  that  Christianity  should  produce  its  genuine  results. 
What  are  the  precise  limits  within  which  the  essentials  of 
Christian  doctrine  may  be  exhibited  in  their  integrity,  it  is  not 
for  us  to  determine  :  to  do  so  would  be  to  venture  within  that 
province  which  we  have  formally  renounced.  But  that  the 
essence  of  the  doctrines  and  precepts  of  this  peculiar  system 
may  be  fully  exhibited,  notwithstanding  considerable  diversity 
of  opinions  on  subordinate  points,  no  man  of  candor  will  de 
ny.  The  names  of  eminent  men  of  very  different  parties 
will  instantly  suggest  themselves  to  the  memory  of  the 
reader,  to  whom,  we  are  convinced,  not  one  individual  of  the 
Christian  community  would  deny  the  title  of  "  preachers  of 
righteousness." 

But  supposing  the  requisite  purity  of  doctrine  secured, — 
of  which  we  must  leave  men  to  form  their  own  opinion,  — 
the  mode  in  which  that  doctrine  is  exhibited  and  enforced  is 
only  second  in  importance.  And  the  proof  is  found  in  this  : 
that,  if  we  appeal  to  an  individual  of  any  denomination,  he 
will  tell  you  that  he  knows  preachers  whom  he  cannot  but 
account  equally  worthy  and  excellent,  and  equally  in  posses 
sion  of  the  truth,  (that  is,  who  think  exactly  with  himself, 
for  that  is  the  infallible  standard  by  which  each  man  meas 
ures  the  aberrations  of  his  neighbor,)  who  yet  shall  produce 
the  most  opposite  effects  on  him.  The  one  shall  send  him  to 
sleep  in  spite  of  himself,  and  the  other  shall  not  permit  him 


200  SACRED  ELOQUENCE: 

to  sleep,  even  if  he  would.  Yet  the  substance  of  their  com 
munications,  he  himself  being  the  judge,  is  in  each  case  pre 
cisely  the  same. 

We  have  long  been  convinced  that  the  inefficiency  that  so 
generally  distinguishes  pulpit  discourses  is  in  a  great  degree 
owing  to  the  two  following  causes  :  first,  that  preachers  do 
not  sufficiently  cultivate,  as  part  of  their  professional  educa 
tion,  a  systematic  acquaintance  with  the  principles  upon 
which  all  effective  eloquence  must  be  founded,  —  with  the 
limitations  under  which  their  topics  must  be  chosen,  and  the 
mode  in  which  they  must  be  exhibited,  in  order  to  secure 
popular  impression  ;  and,  secondly,  that  they  do  «ot,  after 
they  have  assumed  their  sacred  functions,  give  sufficient 
time  or  labor  to  the  preparation  of  their  discourses. 

Many  and  splendid  exceptions  to  these  statements  no  doubt 
there  are.  We  only  fear  that  some  for  whom  the  consolation 
of  this  saving  clause  was  not  intended,  will,  nevertheless, 
complacently  take  the  benefit  of  it.  We  shall  offer  some 
observations  on  both  the  causes  of  failure  above  specified,  at 
the  close  of  the  present  article. 

The  appropriateness  of  any  composition,  whether  written 
or  spoken,  is  easily  deduced  from  its  object.  If  that  object 
be  to  instruct,  convince,  or  persuade,  or  all  these  at  the  same 
time,  we  naturally  expect  that  it  should  be  throughout  of  a 
direct  and  earnest  character  ;  —  indicating  a  mind  absorbed 
in  the  avowed  object,  and  solicitous  only  about  what  may 
subserve  it.  We  expect  that  this  singleness  of  purpose  should 
be  seen  in  the  topics  discussed,  in  the  arguments  selected  to 
enforce  them,  in  the  modes  of  illustration,  and  even  in  the 
peculiarities  of  style  and  expression.  We  expect  that  noth 
ing  shall  be  introduced  merely  for  the  purpose  of  inspiring 
an  interest,  either  in  the  thoughts  or  in  the  language,  apart 
from  their  pertinency  to  the  object;  or  of  exciting  an  emo 
tion  of  delight  for  its  own  sake,  as  in  poetry,  —  although  it 
is  quite  true  that  the  most  vivid  pleasure  will  necessarily  re 
sult  from  perceiving  an  exact  adaptation  of  the  means  to  the 


THE    BRITISH    PULPIT.  201 

end.  We  cannot  readily  pardon  mere  beauties  or  ele 
gances,  striking  thoughts  or  graceful  imagery,  if  they  are 
marked  by  this  irrelevancy;  since  they  serve  only  to  impede 
the  vehement  current  of  argument  or  feeling.  In  a  word,  we 
expect  nothing  but  what,  under  the  circumstances  of  the 
speaker,  is  prompted  by  nature ;  - —  nature,  not  as  opposed  to 
a  deliberate  effort  to  adapt  the  means  to  the  ends,  and  to  do 
what  is  to  be  done  as  well  as  possible,  for  this,  though  in  one 
sense  art,  is  also  the  truest  nature ;  —  but  nature,  as  opposed 
to  whatever  is  inconsistent  with  the  idea,  that  the  man  is  un 
der  the  dominion  of  genuine  feeling,  and  bent  upon  taking 
the  directest  path  to  the  accomplishment  of  his  object.  True 
eloquence  is  not  like  some  painted  window,  which  both  trans 
mits  the  light  of  day  variegated  and  tinged  with  a  thousand 
hues,  and  diverts  the  attention  from  its  proper  use  to  the 
pomp  and  splendor  of  the  artist's  doing.  It  is  a  perfectly 
trasparent  -medium ;  transmitting  light,  without  suggesting  a 
thought  about  the  medium  itself.  Adaptation  to  the  one  sin 
gle  object  is  every  thing. 

These  maxims  have  been  universally  recognized  in  delib 
erative  and  forensic  eloquence.  Those  who  have  most 
severely  exemplified  them  have  ever  been  regarded  as  the 
truest  models;  while  those  who  have  partially  violated  them, 
though  still  considered  in  a  qualified  sense  very  eloquent, 
have  failed  to  obtain  the  highest  place.  Nor,  it  may  be  safe 
ly  said,  would  the  irrelevant  discussions,  the  florid  declama 
tion,  the  imaginative  finery,  the  tawdry  ornament,  which  too 
often  disgrace  the  pulpit,  —  which  too  often  are  haard  in  it, 
not  only  without  astonishment,  but  with  admiration,  —  be  tol 
erated  for  a  moment  in  the  senate  or  at  the  bar. 

Much  of  this  is  no  doubt  to  be  attributed  to  the  deplorable 
fact,  that  the  great  themes  of  religion  are  viewed  (not  by 
preachers  alone,  but  by  all  mankind)  with  emotions  so  sadly 
disproportioned  to  their  intrinsic  importance.  Hence  the 
difficulty  of  finding  the  man  who,  is  as  thoroughly  interested 
in  the  subjects  of  religion  as  thousands  are  in  discussions  re- 


202  SACRED    ELOQUENCE  I 

lating  to  the  timber  or  sugar  duties,  —  to  a  grant  of  public 
money,  or  a  vote  of  supply.  Even  a  trial  at  the  Old  Bailey 
for  stealing  a  couple  of  pocket-handkerchiefs  too  often  stirs 
deeper  emotion,  both  in  speakers  and  hearers,  than  the  most 
momentous  realities  connected  with  the  future  and  unseen 
world. 

This,  however,  is  only  a  partial  solution  of  the  difficulty  ; 
since  the  maxims  we  have  above  adverted  to  are  often  and 
grievously  violated  by  multitudes  of  preachers,  the  consisten 
cy  of  whose  lives,  and  whose  diligent  discharge  of  the  ordi 
nary  duties  of  their  office,  bespeak  them  to  be  under  the  do 
minion  of  religious  principle.  Their  failings,  therefore,  as 
public  speakers,  can  be  fairly  accounted  for  only  by  their 
having  adopted  an  erroneous  idea  of  what  the  most  effective 
style  of  speaking  is  ;  or,  which  is  more  frequent,  from  their 
never  having  attained  any  distinct  idea  of  it  at  all. 

We  have  long  felt  convinced  that  the  eloquence  of  the  pul 
pit,  in  its  general  character,  has  never  been  assimilated  so  far 
as  it  might  have  been,  and  ought  to  have  been,  to  that  which 
has  produced  the  greatest  effect  elsewhere  ;  and  which  is  shown 
to  be  of  the  right  kind  both  by  the  success  which  has  attended 
it,  and  by  the  analysis  of  the  qualities  by  which  it  has  been 
distinguished.  If  we  were  compelled  to  give  a  brief  defini 
tion  of  the  principal  characteristics  of  this  truest  style  of  elo 
quence,  we  should  say  it  was  "  practical  reasoning,  animated 
by  strong  emotion  "  ;  or  if  we  might  be  indulged  in  what  is 
rather  a  description  than  a  definition  of  it,  we  should  say  that 
it  consisted  in  reasoning  on  topics  calculated  to  inspire  a  com 
mon  interest,  expressed  in  the  language  of-ordinary  life,  and 
in  that  brief,  rapid,  familiar  style  which  natural  emotion  ever 
assumes.  The  former  half  of  this  description  would  condemn 
no  small  portion  of  the  compositions  called  "  Sermons,"  and 
the  latter  half  a  still  larger  portion. 

We  would  not  be  misunderstood.  It  is  far  —  very  far  — 
from  our  intention  to  speak  in  terms  of  the  slightest  depreci 
ation  of  the  immense  treasures  of  learning,  of  acute  disqui- 


THE   BRITISH   PULPIT.  203 

sition,  of  profound  speculation,  of  powerful  controversy, 
which  the  literature  of  the  English  pulpit  contains.  In  these 
points  it  cannot  be  surpassed.  In  vigor  and  originality  of 
thought,  in  argumentative  power,  in  extensive  and  varied  eru 
dition,  it  as  far  transcends  all  other  literature  of  the  same 
kind,  as  it  is  deficient  in  the  qualities  which  are  fitted  to  pro 
duce  popular  impression.  We  merely  assert  that  the  greater 
part  of  "  Sermons  "  are  not  at  all  entitled  to  the  name,  if  by 
it  be  meant  discourses  specially  adapted  to  the  object  of  in 
structing,  convincing,  or  persuading  the  common  mind. 

We  are  well  aware,  that  the  very  nature  of  pulpit  eloquence 
forbids  any  thing  more  than  a  partial  assimilation  to  that  of 
the  senate  or  the  bar ;  —  that  certain  modifications  will  be  in 
stantly  suggested  by  the  topics  with  which  it  deals,  and  the 
objects  which  it  has  in  view.  It  must  often  be  to  a  far  great 
er  extent  simply  didactic  than  eloquence  of  any  other  kind  ; 
though  the  practical  purpose  to  which  all  matter  of  this  sort  is 
to  be  immediately  applied,  will  still  secure  an  earnestness  and 
animation  in  the  style  in  very  observable  contrast  with  the 
even  tone  and  measured  periods  of  literary  disquisition.  It  nev 
er  can  appeal  to  those  tumultuous  passions,  nor  rouse  those  ve 
hement  feelings,  which  may  be  gladly  abandoned  to  the  arena 
of  politics  ;  while  those  sublime  realities,  connected  with  the 
future  and  the  invisible,  which  form  its  great  and  inspiring 
themes,  must  necessarily  demand  more  minute  and  ample 
description,  in  order  vividly  to  impress  the  imagination,  than 
would  be  readily  tolerated  either  in  deliberative  or  forensic 
eloquence.  Still  this  is  only  saying,  that,  as  a  peculiar  species 
of  eloquence,  it  has  something  peculiar  ;  as  a  species  of  the 
genus,  it  ought  still  to  possess  the  generic  qualities.  The  de 
gree  in  which  it  can  exhibit  and  embody  those  qualities  is  an 
other  question  ;  and  though  it  may  be  a  point  of  some  difficul 
ty  to  ascertain  how  far  this  object  may  be  attained,  it  is  not 
difficult  to  show  either  that  it  might  have  been  attained  more 
completely  than  it  has  been,  or  that  in  many  instances  it  has 
been  neglected  altogether. 


204  SACRED    ELOQUENCE  : 

We  have  said,  for  example,  that  the  principal  characteristic 
of  all  effective  eloquence  consists  in  reasoning  on  topics  cal 
culated  to  inspire  a  common  interest  in  the  mass  of  a  common 
audience.  Who  can  take  even  the  most  hasty  inspection  of 
our  pulpit  literature,  without  perceiving  how  generally  this 
obvious  attribute  has  been  neglected,  especially  till  within  a 
comparatively  recent  period  ?  What  can  be  more  hopeless 
than  the  attempt  to  engage  the  attention,  or  interest  the  feel 
ings,  of  a  common  audience  in  metaphysical  subtilties  ?  And 
yet  abstruse  speculations  on  the  "  origin  of  evil,"  on  "  moral 
necessity,"  on  the  "  self-determining  power,"  on  the  "  ulti 
mate  principles  of  ethics,"  on  the  "  immortality  of  the  soul," 
as  proved  from  its  indiscerptibility  and  we  know  not  what,  on 
the  "  eternal  fitness  of  things,"  on  the  "  moral  sense,"  with 
other  still  more  recondite  speculations  on  themes  which  it  is 
almost  impious  and  perfectly  useless  to  touch,  were  of  com 
mon  occurrence  in  our  older  pulpit  literature  ;  and  they  are 
not  infrequent,  though  not  pursued  to  the  same  extent,  even 
now.  For  our  own  parts  we  believe  that  the  discussion  of 
such  subjects  is  about  as  profitable  in  a  popular  assembly  as 
would  be  that  of  the  well-known  questions,  as  to  whether  an 
gels  can  pass  from  one  point  of  space  to  another,  without 
passing  through  the  intermediate  points,  and  whether  they 
can  visually  discern  objects  in  the  dark.  Dr.  Donne  has 
proposed  a  series  of  questions  for  over-refined  speculators,  in 
which  he  keenly  satirizes  all  such  superfluous  subtilty.  It  is 
only  to  be  lamented  that  he  did  not  more  effectually  learn  his 
own  lesson  in  the  composition  of  his  own  sermons  ;  in  some 
of  which  he  has  touched  upon  subjects  more  fit  for  Thomas 
Aquinas  than  the  Christian  preacher.  We  would  not  do  even 
Thomas  Aquinas  injustice,  however  ;  we  verily  believe  that 
the  great  schoolman  would  have  stood  aghast  at  the  idea  of 
dragging  such  questions  out  of  the  obscurity  of  the  schools 
into  common  daylight,  and  making  them  the  themes  of  pop 
ular  declamation. 

We  gladly  admit  that  the  modern  pulpit  is  fast  outgrowing 


THE    BRITISH    PULPIT.  205 

these  extravagances  ;  that  such  discussions  are  both  less  fre 
quent,  and  pursued  to  a  much  more  limited  extent,  than  they 
used  to  be.  Yet  it  is  no  uncommon  thing  to  find  the  young 
preacher,  fresh  from  his  metaphysics  or  his  philosophy,  touch 
ing  upon  them  just  to  a  sufficient  extent  to  exhaust  and  dis 
sipate  the  attention  of  his  audience  before  he  comes  to  more 
important  and  more  welcome  matter  ;  or  indulging  in  allu 
sions,  and  employing  phraseology  with  reference  to  them 
wholly  unintelligible  to  the  mass.  Others,  and  they  form  a 
much  larger  class,  are  fond  of  subjects  which  are  only  one 
degree  less  useful,  and  which,  though  they  ought  not  to  be 
excluded  from  the  pulpit,  need  to  be  very  rarely  entered  up 
on.  We  allude  to  the  discussions  connected  with  "  Natural 
Theology,"  and  the  first  "  Principles  of  Morals."  Such 
preachers  are  continually  proving  that  there  is  a  God,  to 
those  who  readily  admit  there  is  a  divine  revelation  ;  that  the 
marks  of  design  in  the  universe  prove  that  there  is  an  intel 
ligent  cause,  to  those  who  never  had  a  single  doubt  upon  the 
subject ;  that  death  is  not  an  eternal  sleep,  to  those  who  find 
no  difficulty  in  admitting  that  there  is  a  heaven  and  a  hell  ; 
that  man  is  a  moral  agent,  to  those  who  cannot  even  conceive 
that  he  can  be  otherwise  ;  and  that  those  first  principles  of 
ethics  are  certainly  true,  which  even  savages  themselves 
would  be  ashamed  to  disavow.  We  say  not  that  such  topics 
should  be  excluded  from  the  pulpit,  but  only  that  they  should 
form  a  very  inferior  element  in  its  ordinary  prelections.  The 
Atheist  and  Deist,  though  rarely  found  in  Christian  congrega 
tions,  should  not  be  entirely  neglected  ;  and  those  who  are 
neither  the  one  nor  the  other  should  certainly  be  in  posses 
sion  of  arguments  which  may  serve  to  confute  both,  and  to 
give  an  intelligent  reason  "  of  the  hope  that  is  in  them." 
But  it  may  safely  be  taken  for  granted,  in  ordinary  cases,  that 
the  great  bulk  of  those  who  attend  any  Christian  place  of 
worship  already  believe  all  these  things ;  in  a  word,  admit  the 
truth  of  that  revelation,  the  exposition  and  enforcement  of 
which  are  the  preacher's  proper  object.  What  should  we  say 

18 


206  SACRED   ELOQUENCE  : 

to  a  member  of  Parliament  who  should  treat  the  House  of 
Commons  (characteristically  impatient  of  whatever  does  not 
bear  on  practical  objects)  to  formal  disquisitions  on  points  on 
which  all  the  members  are  agreed  ;  —  on  the  first  principles 
of  law  and  government,  for  example  ;  or  on  any  of  those  ab 
stract  questions  which  were  discussed  properly  enough  by 
Filmer  and  Locke.  Allusions  to  such  matters,  so  far  as  they 
bear  on  the  matter  in  hand,  and  brief  references  to  general 
principles  which  embrace  the  particular  instances  under  dis 
cussion,  are  all  that  would  be  tolerated. 

Even  where  the  topics  are  not  such  as  are  fairly  open  to 
censure,  a  large  class  of  preachers,  especially  amongst  the 
young,  grievously  err  by  investing  them  with  the  technicalities 
of  science  and  philosophy ;  either  because  they  foolishly  sup 
pose  they  thereby  give  their  compositions  a  more  philosophi 
cal  air,  or  because  they  disdain  the  homely  and  the  vulgar. 
We  remember  hearing  of  a  worthy  man  of  this  class,  who, 
having  occasion  to  tell  his  audience  the  simple  truth,  that 
there  was  not  one  Gospel  for  the  rich  and  another  for  the  poor, 
informed  them,  that,  "  if  they  would  not  be  saved  on  '  gener 
al  principles,'  they  could  not  be  saved  at  all "  !  With  such 
men  it  is  not  sufficient  to  say,  that  such  and  such  a  thing 
must  be,  but  there  is  always  a  "  moral  or  physical  necessity  " 
for  it.  The  will  is  too  old-fashioned  a  thing  to  be  mentioned, 
and  every  thing  is  done  by  volition ;  duty  is  expanded  into 
"  moral  obligation  "  ;  men  not  only  ought  to  do  this,  that,  or 
the  other,  it  is  always  by  "  some  principle  of  their  moral  na 
ture  "  ;  they  not  only  like  to  do  so  and  so,  but  they  are  "  im 
pelled  by  some  natural  propensity  "  ;  men  not  only  think  and 
do,  but  they  are  never  represented  as  thinking  and  doing 
without  some  parade  of  their  "  intellectual  processes  and  ac 
tive  powers."  Such  discourses  are  full  of  "  moral  beauty," 
and  "  necessary  relations,"  and  "  philosophical  demonstra 
tions,"  and  "  laws  of  nature,"  and  "  a  priori  and  a  posteri 
ori  arguments."  If  some  simple  fact  of  physical  science  is 
referred  to  in  the  way  of  argument  or  illustration,  it  cannot 


THE    BRITISH   PULPIT.  207 

be  presented  in  common  language,  but  must  be  exhibited  in 
the  pomp  of  the  most  approved  scientific  technicalities.  If 
there  be  a  common  and  scientific  name  for  the  same  object, 
ten  to  one  that  the  latter  is  adopted.  Heat  straightway  be 
comes  "  caloric,"  lightning,  the  •"  electric  fluid  "  ;  instead  of 
plants  and  animals,  we  are  surrounded  by  "  organized  sub 
stances"  ;  life  is  nothing  half  so  good  as  the  "vital  princi 
ple  "  ;  "  phenomena  "  of  all  kinds  are  very  plentiful ;  these 
phenomena  are  "  developed "  and  "combined,"  and  "ana 
lyzed,"  and,  in  short,  done  every  thing  with,  except  being 
made  intelligible.  Not  only  is  s.uch  language  as  this  obscure 
ly  understood,  or  not  understood  at  all,  but  even  if  perfectly 
understood,  must  necessarily  be  far  less  effective  than  those 
simple  terms  of  common  life,  which  for  the  most  part  may 
be  substituted  for  them.  The  sermons  of  Augustus  William 
Hare,  referred  to  at  the  commencement  of  this  essay,  may 
serve  to  show  how  the  abstract  terms  of  philosophy  may  be 
advantageously  translated  into  simple  and  racy  English.* 

*  The  following  extract  from  Dr.  Campbell's  "Lectures  on  Pulpit 
Eloquence"  is  worth  notice :  — "  There  is  indeed  a  sort  of  literary  diction, 
which  sometimes  the  inexperienced  are  ready  to  fall  into  insensibly,  from 
their  having  been  much  more  accustomed  to  the  school  and  to  the  closet, 
to  the  works  of  some  particular  schemer  in  philosophy,  than  to  the  scenes 
of  real  life  and  conversation.  This  fault,  though  akin  to  the  former,  is 
not  so  bad ;  as  it  may  be  without  affectation,  and  when  there  is  no  spe 
cial  design  of  catching  applause.  It  is,  indeed,  most  commonly  the  con 
sequence  of  an  immoderate  attachment  to  some  one  or  other  of  the 
various  systems  of  ethics  or  theology  that  have  in  modern  times  been 
published,  and  obtained  a  vogue  among  their  respective  partisans.  Thus 
the  zealous  disciple  of  Shaftesbury,  Akenside,  and  Hutcheson  is  no  soon 
er  licensed  to  preach  the  Gospel,  than,  with  the  best  intentions  in  the 
world,  he  harangues  the  people  from  the  pulpit  on  the  moral  sense  and 
universal  benevolence ;  he  sets  them  to  inquire  whether  there  be  a  per 
fect  conformity  in  their  affections  to  the  supreme  symmetry  established 
in  the  universe ;  he  is  full  of  the  sublime  and  beautiful  in  things,  the 
moral  objects  of  right  and  wrong,  and  the  proportional  affection  of  a  ra 
tional  creature  towards  them.  He  speaks  much  of  the  inward  music 
of  the  mind,  the  harmony  and  the  dissonance  of  the  passions  ;  and  seems, 
by  his  way  of  talking,  to  imagine,  that  if  a  man  have  this  same  moral  sense, 


208  SACRED    ELOQUENCE : 

Equally  at  variance  with  common  sense  are  the  topics 
which  some  few  preachers,  much  addicted  to  Biblical  criticism, 
but  strangely  ignorant  of  its  practical  uses,  and  the  limits 
within  which  alone  it  can  be  properly  applied,  sometimes 
think  proper  to  introduce  into  sermons.  Their  talk  is  much 
of  "  collations  of  manuscripts,"  of  "  various  readings,"  of 
the  "  Vulgate,"  of  "  Coptic  and  Syriac  versions,"  of  "  inter 
polations,"  of  the  "  original  languages,"  of  "  Hebrew  points," 
&c.,  &c.,  &c.  They  totally  forget,  if  they  ever  knew,  that 
all  these  things  are  the  mere  instruments  with  which  they 
work ;  and  that  the  results,  expressed  in  simple  language,  and 
without  any  ostentatious  technicalities,  are  all  with  which  the 
people  have  to  do.  If  such  a  man  were  building  a  house, 
he  would  doubtless  suffer  the  scaffolding  to  stand  about  it  as 
a  notable  embellishment;  or  if  he  were  employed  to  lay 
down  a  carpet,  he  would  leave  the  hammer  and  nails  upon 
the  floor  as  memorials  of  his  labor  and  ingenuity. 

The  selection  of  inappropriate  topics  is  the  more  inexcusa 
ble,  when  we  consider  the  large  provision  of  subjects  of  en- 
iduring  and  universal  interest  which  is  made  in  the  very  Book 
which  the  preacher  professes  to  interpret.  He  may  freely 
expatiate  over  the  ample  circle  of  its  doctrines  and  precepts, 
in  all  their  applications  to  the  endless  diversities  of  life}  and 
the  endless  peculiarities  of  individual  character ;  he  may  find 
an  equally  legitimate  province  in  the  interpretation  of  difficult 
passages,  or  the  reconciliation  of  apparent  discrepancies ;  in 
the  illustration  of  manners,  customs,  and  antiquities  ;  and  in 
the  elucidation  of  those  ever-varied  and  deeply  interesting 
narratives  in  which,  for  the  profoundest  reasons,  the  doctrines 

which  he  considers  as  the  mental  ear,  in  due  perfection,  he  may  tune  his 
soul  with  as  much  ease  as  a  musician  tunes  his  musical  instrument.  The 
disciple  of  Dr.  Clarke,  on  the  contrary,  talks  to  us  in  somewhat  of  a  so 
berer  strain  and  less  pompous  phrase,  but  not  a  jot  more  edifying,  about 
unalterable  reason  and  the  eternal  fitness  of  things,  about  the  conformity 
of  our  actions  to  their  immutable  relations  and  essential  differences."  — 
Lecture  III. 


THE    BRITISH    PULPIT.  209 

of  Scripture  are  every  where  imbedded,  —  as  if  for  the  very- 
purpose  both  of  securing  the  requisite  variety  in  pulpit  dis 
courses,  and  preventing  the  truths  of  religion  from  assuming 
the  form  of  naked  abstractions.  Well  would  it  be  if  in  this 
respect,  as  well  as  in  others,  the  preacher  would  make  the 
Bible  the  object  of  his  sedulous  imitation.  It  is  everywhere 
a  practical  book  ;  it  contains  no  over-curious  speculations,  no 
superfluous  subtleties.  On  the  contrary,  as  often  remarked, 
there  is  a  singular  silence  maintained  in  that  volume  on  all 
that  tends  merely  to  gratify  our  curiosity.  The  very  mys 
teries  it  discloses,  it  discloses  only  so  far  as  is  necessary  for 
some  practical  purpose  ;  whilst  it  everywhere  views  man 
just  as  in  common  life  man  views  himself  and  his  fellows, — 
recognizing  at  once,  without  discussion,  all  those  facts  con 
nected  with  our  intellectual  and  moral  constitution,  the  true 
theory  of  which  has  occasioned  such  endless  differences  and 
inquiries  in  the  schools. 

If  the  topics  selected  by  the  preacher  have  often  been  very 
little  calculated  to  inspire  interest  in  the  mass  of  a  common 
audience,  it  is  equally  true,  that,  where  they  are  liable  to 
no  such  objection,  the  mode  of  treating  them  has  as  often 
been  any  thing  but  popular.  The  argumentation  is  often  too 
subtle  or  too  comprehensive  ;  or  a  too  solicitously  logical 
form  is  given  to  its  expression.  Unity  of  subject,  indeed, 
there  ought  to  be,  and  must  be  ;  t]jat  is,  where  the  discourse 
is  a  "  sermon,"  and  not  an  "  exposition."  But  it  is  one  thing 
to  exhibit  that  one  subject  by  rapidly  and  powerfully  touch 
ing  thbse  points  which  the  common  mind  can  seize  and  ap 
preciate,  and  quite  another  to  exhibit  it  after  the  manner  of 
Euclid  or  Dr.  Clarke.  Unity  of  subject  is  a  characteristic 
of  Demosthenes  ;  but  continuous  or  subtle  ratiocination  never 
is.  He  reasons,  indeed,  perpetually,  for  reasoning,  as  al 
ready  said,  is  the  staple  of  all  effective  eloquence  ;  but  never 
was  a  truer  criticism  than  that  of  Lord  Brougham,  —  "  that 
his  reasonings  are  not  of  the  nature  of  continuous  demon 
stration,  and  by  no  means  resemble  a  chain  of  mathematical 
18* 


210  SACRED   ELOQUENCE  : 

or  metaphysical  arguments."  The  following  observations 
are  well  worthy  the  attention  of  every  speaker :  —  "If  by 
this  "  (the  assertion  that  Demosthenes  is  chiefly  character 
ized  by  reasoning)  "  is  only  meant  that  he  never  wanders 
from  the  subject,  that  each  remark  tells  upon  the  matter  in 
hand,  that  all  his  illustrations  are  brought  to  bear  upon  the 
point,  and  that  he  is  never  found  making  any  step  in  any 
direction  which  does  not  advance  his  main  object,  and  lead 
towards  the  conclusion  to  which  he  is  striving  to  bring  his 
hearers,  the  observation  is  perfectly  just ;  for  this  is  a  dis 
tinguishing  feature  in  the  character  of  his  eloquence.  It  is 
not,  indeed,  his  grand  excellence,  because  every  thing  de 
pends  upon  the  manner  in  which  he  pursues  this  course  ; 
the  course  itself  being  one  quite  as  open  to  the  humblest 
mediocrity  as  to  the  highest  genius.  But  if  it  is  meant  to 
be  said  that  those  Attic  orators,  and  especially  their  great 
chief,  made  speeches  in  which  long  chains  of  elaborated  rea 
soning  are  to  be  found,  nothing  can  be  less  like  the  truth. 
A  variety  of  topics  are  handled  in  succession,  all  calculated 
to  strike  the  audience" 

We  admit,  however,  that  it  is  impossible  to  lay  down  any 
universal  rule  on  this  point.  Different  men  will  treat  their 
subjects  with  more  or  less  of  logical  severity,  according  to 
the  structure  of  their  own  understandings  ;  and,  what  is 
more,  will  form  to  themselves  audiences  who  will  appreciate 
their  methods.  A  general  caution  against  the  extremes  ad 
verted  to,  is  all  that  can  be  given.  But  in  order  more  effect 
ually  to  guard  against  the  faults  in  question,  we  are  inclined  to 
believe  that  it  would  be  well  if  the  ancient  system  of  "  Hom 
ilies,"  or  expositions  of  considerable  passages,  were  more  fre 
quently  resorted  to.  If  well  executed,  especially  when  the 
subjects  are  historical,  we  are  disposed  to  think  they  would 
both  be  more  fruitful  of  instruction,  and  secure,  by  variety 
of  topics,  a  stronger  hold  upon  the  attention  of  a  common 
audience.  We  are  aware,  indeed,  that  to  present  such  sub 
jects  judiciously,  to  make  the  transitions  easy  and  natural, 


THE    BRITISH    PULPIT.  211 

and  to  secure  something  like  unity  of  plan,  notwithstanding 
the  great  variety  of  the  materials,  would  require  quite  as 
much  labor  as  the  construction  of  a  sermon  on  some  single 
topic,  —  probably  more.  And  for  this  very  reason  we  do 
not  think  it  would  be  at  all  fair  to  judge  of  the  effects  of  such 
expositions  by  what  commonly  pass  under  that  name,  in 
which  a  large  portion  of  text  is  often  taken  in  order  to  save 
trouble  ;  —  the  preacher  erroneously  supposing,  that,  where 
he  has  so  much  to  talk  about,  he  cannot  fail  to  have  enough 
to  say,  and  that  he  may  therefore  dispense  with  a  diligent 
preparation.  He  forgets  that,  if  the  field  be  very  wide,  there 
may  be  the  greater  danger,  unless  he  takes  due  care,  of 
losing  himself  in  it.  We  have  heard  of  a  preacher  of  this 
stamp,  who  alleged,  as  a  reason  for  resorting  to  the  expos 
itory  method,  that  when  he  was  "  persecuted  in  one  text,  he 
could  flee  unto  another."  Chrysostom,  in  his  very  best 
moods,  admirably  exemplifies  the  homiletic  style  here  con 
tended  for.* 


*  Whitefield's  sermons  very  often  consist  of  little  more  than  a  familiar 
and  lively  exposition  of  a  parable,  or  some  short  portion  of  narrative  ; 
and  to  this,  we  have  no  doubt,  they  owed  no  slight  degree  of  their  pop 
ularity.  The  sermons  of  Whitefield  have  come  down  to  us  in  a  very 
imperfect  form.  They  are,  for  the  most  part,  mere  notes  of  what  he 
said.  It  has  often  been  remarked,  that  his  sermons  are  strangely  des 
titute  of  vigorous  or  original  thought.  Though  it  is  certain  they  have 
greatly  suffered  from  the  mutilated  form  in  which  they  have  reached  us, 
we  must  confess  it  does  not  appear  to  us  that  the  sermons  are  very  de 
ficient  in  those  qualities  of  thought  or  expression  which  we  have  rep 
resented  as  so  essential  to  popular  eloquence.  It  is  true  they  often  want 
method  and  arrangement,  are  disfigured  by  repetitions,  extravagances, 
and  frequent  and  gross  violations  of  taste.  These  are  to  be  attributed 
partly  to  the  cause  above  specified,  that  is,  the  imperfect  manner  in 
which  his  sermons  have  been  preserved,  partly  to  the  character  of  his 
own  mind,  and  partly  to  the  age.  If,  indeed,  any  one  look  for  profound 
speculation,  or  continuous  and  subtle  reasoning,  in  these  sermons,  he 
will  be  disappointed;  but  so  far  from  wondering  on  that  account  that  they 
should  have  produced  such  an  effect,  he  will  feel,  if  he  know  any  thing 
of  the  philosophy  of  popular  eloquence,  that  they  could  not  have  pro- 


212  .        SACRED   ELOQUENCE  I 

As  we  have  said  that  we  wish  preachers  would  let  the 
Scriptures  determine  for  them  to  what  classes  of  subjects 
they  should  limit  themselves,  so  we  wish  that  they  would 
imitate  the  same  book  in  their  general  mode  of  treating  the 
topics  it  supplies.  There,  assuredly,  as  Lord  Brougham  says 
of  Demosthenes,  the  reasonings  are  not  "  chains  of  contin 
uous  ratiocination."  The  book  is  constructed  with  far  too 
profound  a  knowledge  of  human  nature  for  that.  To  use 
the  expressive  language  already  quoted,  "  a  variety  of  topics 
are  handled  in  succession,  all  calculated  to  strike  the  com 
mon  mind."  This  is  the  very  characteristic  of  the  discourses 
of  our  Lord  ;  and  in  this,  as  well  as  in  all  other  respects,  they 
are  worthy  of  the  profound  study  of  the  Christian  preacher. 
A  few  philosophers  would,  no  doubt,  prefer  a  very  different 
method  ;  and  have  often  very  unphilosophically  complained 
of  Scripture,  because  its  method  is  not  their  method.  But 
we  are  not  speaking  of  what  philosophers  would  best  like, 
but  what  is  most  calculated  to  impress  the  common  mind. 

We  shall  now  proceed  to  offer  a  few  observations  on  those 
properties  of  style  which  peculiarly  belong  to  the  most  effect 
ive  eloquence.  It  was  remarked,  that  it  is  characterized  by 
that  brief,  rapid,  familiar,  and  natural  manner  which  a  mind 
in  earnest  ever  assumes.  It  is  best  illustrated  by  the  style 
of  a  man  engaged  in  conversation  on  some  serious  subject, 
—  intent,  for  example,  on  convincing  his  neighbor  of  some 
important  truth,  or  persuading  him  to  some  course  of  conduct. 
The  public  speaker  will  often  manifest,  it  is  true,  greater 


duced  such  an  effect,  if  they  had  been  characterized  by  these  qualities. 
It  is  certain  they  could  not  have  been  destitute  of  the  principal  qualities, 
whether  of  thought  or  of  style,  which  constitute  popular  eloquence  ;  and 
we  think  that  even  now,  amidst  great  deformities,  those  qualities  may 
be  not  obscurely  traced  in  them.  Preaching,  of  which  the  fastidious 
Hume  said,  that  it  was  "  worth  going  twenty  miles  to  hear  it,"  —  which 
interested  the  infidel  Bolingbroke,  and  warmed  even  the  cool  and  cau 
tious  Franklin  for  once  into  enthusiasm,  —  must  have  possessed  great 
merit,  independently  of  the  charms  of  voice,  gesture,  and  manner. 


THE    BRITISH    PULPIT.  213 

dignity  or  vehemence,  (the  natural  result  of  speaking  on  a 
more  important  theme,  and  to  a  larger  audience,)  but  there 
will  be  the  same  general  characteristics  still ;  the  same  collo 
quial,  but  never  vulgar  diction  ;  the  same  homely  illustrations; 
the  same  brevity  of  expression  ;  —  in  a  word,  all  those  pecu 
liarities  which  mark  a  man  absorbed  in  his  subject,  and  simply 
anxious  to  give  the  most  forcible  expression  to  his  thoughts 
and  feelings.  It  is  not  very  easy  to  give  an  analysis  of  this 
peculiar  style  by  an  enumeration  of  its  qualities ;  but  it  is 
instantly  recognized  wherever  it  is  found,  whether  addressed 
to  the  eye  or  to  the  ear.* 

The  chief  characteristics  of  this  peculiar  style  are  abhor 
rence  of  the  ornate  and  the  glittering,  of  the  pompous  and 
the  florid ;  jealousy  of  epithets,  a  highly  idiomatic  and  home 
ly  diction,  a  love  of  brevity  and  condensation,  a  freedom 
from  stateliness  and  formality ;  rapid  changes  of  construction, 
frequent  recurrence  to  the  interrogative,  —  not  to  mention 
numberless  other  indications  of  vivacity  and  animation, 
marked  in  speech  by  the  most  rapid  and  varied  changes  of 
voice  and  gesture.  Of  all  its  characteristics,  the  most  strik 
ing  and  the  most  universal  is  the  moderate  use  of  the  imagi 
nation.  Now,  as  lively  emotion  always  stimulates  the  imagi 
nation,  it  may  at  first  sight  appear  paradoxical  that  this  should 
be  a  characteristic  at  all.  But  a  little  reflection  will  explain 
this  ;  for  every  one  must  recollect,  that,  if  a  speaker  is  in 
earnest,  he  never  employs  his  imagination  as  the  poet  does, 
merely  to  delight  us ;  nor,  indeed,  to  delight  us  at  all,  —  except 
as  appropriate  imagery,  though  used  for  another  object,  ne 
cessarily  imparts  pleasure.  For  this  reason,  illustrations  are 
selected  always  with  reference  to  their  force  rather  than  their 
beauty ;  and  are  very  generally  marked  more  by  their  home- 

*  No  writer  on  rhetoric  (if  we  except  Aristotle)  has  been  so  uniformly 
alive  to  the  peculiarities  of  this  style,  or  has  so  happily  illustrated  them, 
as  Dr.  Whately.  It  must  also  be  admitted,  that  his  own  writings  furnish 
many  admirable  exemplifications  of  his  own  maxims.  It  is  well  when 
precept  is  enforced  by  example. 


214  SACRED    ELOQUENCE  I 

ly  propriety  than  by  their  grace  and  elegance.  For  the 
same  reason,  wherever  it  is  possible,  they  are  thrown  into 
the  brief  form  of  metaphor ;  and  here  Aristotle,  with  his  usu 
al  sagacity,  observes  that  the  metaphor  is  the  only  trope  in 
which  the  orator  may  freely  indulge.  Every  thing  marks 
the  man  intent  upon  serious  business,  whose  sole  anxiety  is 
to  convey  his  meaning  with  as  much  precision  and  energy  as 
possible  to  the  minds  of  his  auditors.  But  with  the  poet, 
whose  very  object  is  to  delight  us,  or  even  with  the  prose- 
writer,  in  those  species  of  prose  which  have  the  same  object, 
the  case  is  widely  different.  He  may  employ  two  or  more 
images,  if  they  are  but  appropriate  and  elegant,  where  the 
orator  would  employ  but  one,  and  that  perhaps  the  simplest 
and  homeliest ;  he  may  throw  in  an  epithet  merely  to  suggest 
some  picturesque  circumstance,  or  to  give  greater  minute 
ness  and  vivacity  to  description  ;  he  may  sometimes  indulge 
in  a  more  flowing  and  graceful  expression  than  the  orator 
would  venture  upon ;  that  is,  whenever  harmony  will  better 
answer  his  object  than  energy.  What  does  it  matter  to  him 
who  is  walking  for  walking's  sake,  how  long  he  lingers 
amidst  the  beautiful,  or  how  often  he  pauses  to  drink  in  at 
leisure  the  melody  and  the  fragrance  of  nature  ?  But  the 
man  who  is  pressing  on  to  his  journey's  end  cannot  afford 
time  for  such  luxurious  loitering.  The  utmost  he  can  do  is 
to  snatch  here  and  there  a  homely  floweret  from  the  dusty 
hedge-row,  and  eagerly  pursue  his  way.  So  delicate  is  the  per 
ception  attained  by  a  highly  cultivated  taste  of  the  proprieties 
of  all  grave  and  earnest  composition,  that  it  not  only  feels  at 
enmity  with  the  meretricious  or  viciously  ornaje,  but  imme 
diately  perceives  that  the  greatest  beauties  of  certain  species 
of  prose  composition  would  become  little  better  than  down 
right  bombast,  if  transplanted  into  any  composition  the  object 
of  which  was  serious.  We  may  illustrate  this  by  referring  to 
a  passage  of  acknowledged  beauty,  —  the  description,  in  the 
"Antiquary,"  of  the  sunset  preceding  the  storm  there  so 
grandly  delineated.  "  The  sun  was  now  resting  his  huge 


THE    BRITISH   PULPIT.  215 

disc  upon  the  edge  of  the  level  ocean,  and  gilded  the  accu 
mulation  of  towering  clouds  through  which  he  had  travelled 
the  livelong  day,  and  which  now  assembled  on  all  sides,  like 
misfortunes  and  disasters  around  a  sinking  empire  and  falling 
monarch.  Still,  however,  his  dying  splendor  gave  a  sombre 
magnificence  to  the  massive  congregation  of  vapors,  forming 
out  of  their  unsubstantial  gloom  the  show  of  pyramids  and 
towers,  some  touched  with  gold,  some  with  purple,  some  with 
a  hue  of  deep  and  dark  red.  The  distant  sea,  stretched  be 
neath  this  varied  and  gorgeous  canopy,  lay  almost  porten 
tously  still,  reflecting  back  the  dazzling  and  level  beams  of 
the  descending  luminary,  and  the  splendid  coloring  of  the 
clouds  amidst  which  he  was  setting."  No  one  in  reading  this 
passage  can  help  admiring  its  graphic  beauty  :  the  numerous 
epithets,  considering  the  purpose  for  which  they  are  em 
ployed, —  that  of  detaining  the  mind  upon  every  picturesque 
circumstance,  and  giving  vividness  and  fidelity  to  the  whole 
picture,  —  appear  no  more  frequent  than  they  ought  to  be. 
But  suppose  some  naval  historian,  who  has  occasion  to  narrate 
the  movements  of  two  hostile  fleets  (separated  on  the  eve  of 
battle  by  a  storm),  should  suddenly  pause  to  introduce  a  sim 
ilar  description  ;  —  would  not  the  effect  be  so  ridiculous,  that 
no  one  could  read  to  the  end  of  the  passage  without  bursting 
into  laughter  ? 

It  is  against  such  a  style  that  the  young  preacher,  especially 
if  he  has,  or  thinks  he  has,  a  brilliant  imagination,  is  called  to 
be  jealously  on  his  guard  ;  and  the  more  so,  as  the  very  themes 
on  which  he  is  often  called  to  speak  really  require  a  certain 
fulness  of  description  to  bring  them  with  sufficient  fidelity  and 
vividness  before  the  mind  of  the  hearer.  But  let  him  beware 
how  he  throws  in  epithets,  and  employs  images,  merely  be 
cause  he  thinks  them  beautiful  or  picturesque.  As  regards 
real  impression,  there  is  no  style  which  has  so  little  practical 
effect,  even  when  there  is  real  genius  in  it.  In  general,  that 
style  is  characterized  by  any  thing  but  genius.  There  are 
some  examples  of  it,  however,  to  which  this  remark  would 


216  SACRED    ELOQUENCE  l" 

not  apply  :  it  certainly  would  not  to  some  of  the  sermons  of 
Jeremy  Taylor.  That  this  style  is  often  extravagantly  ad 
mired  is  quite  true  ;  nay,  even  the  downright  florid  is  not  with 
out  its  admirers ;  but  it  is  not  the  less  ineffective  for  all  that. 
This  very  admiration,  as  it  is  too  often  the  subtle  motive 
which  has  beguiled  the  speaker  into  such  a  vicious  mode  of 
treating  his  subject,  so  it  at  once  affords  a  solution  of  the  seem 
ing  paradox ;  for  it  shows  that  the  minds  of  the  auditors  are 
fixed  rather  upon  the  man  than  upon  the  subject,  —  less  upon 
the  truths  inculcated  than  upon  the  genius  which  has  embel 
lished  them.  The  speaker  has  been  ambitious  to  attract  the 
eye  to  himself  and  his  doings,  and  it  must  be  admitted  that 
he  too  often  succeeds ;  but  it  is  at  the  expense  of  what  is  his 
avowed^  and  ought  to  be  his  real,  object.  If  we  cannot  en 
dure  this  style  in  the  public  speaker,  even  where  there  is 
intrinsic  beauty  in  it,  simply  because  we  do  not  think  it  natu 
ral  that  a  man  in  earnest  should  indulge  in  all  this  wanton 
dalliance  with  imagination,  how  much  more  repulsive  is  that 
far  more  frequent  style  which  is  but  a  mockery  of  it,  in  which 
there  is  a  constant  effort  to  be  fine,  —  where  there  is  not  only 
excess  of  ornament,  but  all  of  a  bad  kind  !  The  former 
style  may  be  natural  to  the  man,  —  as  in  the  case  of  Jeremy 
Taylor, — however  unnatural  in  relation  to  the  subject  and 
the  occasion ;  the  latter  is  alike  unnatural  in  relation  to 
both. 

As  the  severe  style  for  which  we  contend  is  best  illustrated 
by  examples,  we  shall  mention  two  or  three  of  those  who 
have  strikingly  exemplified  it.  And,  as  we  are  speaking 
simply  of  style,  the  authors  to  whom  we  shall  refer  are  se 
lected  without  relation  to  the  systems  of  doctrine  which  they 
preached,  and  without  implying  either  approbation  or  censure 
in  that  point  of  view.  If  the  whole  of  those  who  have  illus 
trated  the  principles  here  expounded  were  given,  the  cata 
logue  would  not  be  very  long.  It  is  true,  that  this  style  is 
more  frequently  cultivated  than  it  was ;  and,  if  it  were  not 
invidious  to  refer  to  living  preachers,  we  might  mention  not  a 


THE    BRITISH   PULPIT.  217 

few,  both  in  the  Establishment  and  out  of  it,  who  have  at 
tained  it  in  a  very  high  degree  ;  some  few  in  whom  it  is 
found  nearly  in  perfection.  But  if  we  search  the  printed  lit 
erature  of  the  pulpit,  it  is  not  one  sermon  in  a  thousand  that 
possesses  any  traces  of  it.  The  style  is  often  that  of  stately 
or  elegant  disquisition,  —  often  of  loose  and  florid  declama 
tion,  —  but  rarely  indeed  do  we  recognize  the  qualities 
of  what  Aristotle  has  happily  and  aptly  called  the  "  agonisti- 
cal  "  or  "  wrestling  "  style  ;  —  that  style  by  which  a  speaker 
earnestly  strives  to  make  a  present  audience  see  and  feel 
what  he  wishes  them  to  see  and  feel.  A  large  portion  of  our 
sermons  differ  not  at  all  in  style  from  that  of  a  theological 
treatise,  or  a  philosophical  essay ;  and  they  may  be  read  by 
the  individual  in  the  closet,  without  the  slighest  suspicion, 
were  it  not  for  the  assurance  on  the  title-page,  that  they  were 
discourses  delivered  to  a  public  audience.  We-would  fain  be 
lieve  that  the  printed  sermons  of  many  of  our  preachers  have 
in  this  respect  done  injustice  to  their  ordinary  discourses,  and 
that  they  have  been  greatly  altered  previous  to  publication.  In 
one  case,  and  that  a  striking  one,  we  know  that  this  belief  is 
well  founded.  We  allude  to  perhaps  the  greatest  of  modern 
English  preachers,  the  late  Robert  Hall.  The  few  discourses 
which  he  so  elaborately  prepared  for  the  press,  are  full  of  ex 
quisite  thoughts,  expressed  in  most  exquisite  language  ;  but 
the  style  is  almost  everywhere  that  of  disquisition,  and  in  no 
sensible  degree  different  from  what  he  has  adopted  in  his 
"  Apology  for  the  Freedom  of  the  Press,"  or  his  work  on 
"  Terms  of  Communion."  Now  it  is  well  known  that  his 
ordinary  discourses  were  distinguished  by  a  much  higher  de 
gree  of  those  qualities  of  style  for  which  we  have  been  so 
earnestly  contending ;  and  there  can  be  little  difficulty  in  af 
firming  that,  in  this  one  point  of  view,  many  of  the  sermons 
which  were  imperfectly  taken  down  in  shorthand  from  his 
own  lips,  are  superior  to  the  most  polished  of  those  composi 
tions  which  he  slowly  elaborated  for  the  press. 

But  though  it  is  difficult  to  point  out  many  specimens  of 
19 


218  SACRED    ELOQUENCE  : 

the  style  in  question,  such  specimens  are  to  be  found.  Of 
all  the  English  preachers,  probably  those  who  have  been  most 
strongly  marked  by  the  peculiarities  of  the  true  genius  for 
public  speaking,  are  Latimer,  South,  and  Baxter ;  and,  not 
withstanding  some  defects,  and  those  not  inconsiderable,  they 
are  also  probably  the  preachers  in  whom  specimens  of  the 
style  we  are  speaking  of  will  be  found  the  most  frequent  and 
perfect. 

The  first  of  these  certainly  possessed  talents  for  the  most 
effective  eloquence  in  a  high  degree.  Indeed,  it  may  be  said 
of  many  of  the  preachers  of  the  Reformation,  that,  though 
their  uncouthness,  quaintness,  ridiculous  or  trivial  allusions, 
wearisome  tautologies  and  digressions,  incessant  violations  of 
taste  and  disregard  of  method,  render  it  difficult  to  read  them, 
they  are  in  many  important  points  very  superior  to  the  more 
erudite  and  profound  preachers  of  the  next  century.  The 
subjects  they  selected  were  such  as  more  generally  interested 
the  common  mind.  These  subjects  are  briefly  touched  and 
rapidly  varied.  Though  the  structure  of  the  sentences  is  of 
ten  most  uncouth,  (as  might  be  expected  from  the  state  of 
the  language,)  the  diction  is  more  idiomatic  and  purely  Eng 
lish;  while  the  general  manner  is  decidedly  more  that  of 
downright  earnestness,  —  more  direct  and  pungent.  This 
effect  is  in  a  great  measure  to  be  attributed  to  the  circum 
stances  in  which  they  were  placed.  In  that  great  controversy 
to  which  they  consecrated  their  lives,  they  appealed  to  the 
people,  and  were  naturally  led  both  to  adapt  their  subjects  to 
the  popular  mind,  and  to  express  themselves  in  the  popular 
language.  The  preachers  of  the  next  century  were  men  who 
lived  in  seclusion,  —  far  from  common  life,  buried  among 
books,  and  incessantly  reading  and  often  writing  in  a  foreign 
tongue.  To  all  this  it  is  owing  that  their  subjects  and  their 
style  are  too  often  as  little  adapted  to  produce  popular  impres 
sion  as  those  of  Thomas  Aquinas  himself. 

Of  all  the  English  preachers,  South  seems  to  us  to  furnish, 
in  point  of  style,  the  truest  specimens  of  the  most  effective 


THE    BRITISH    PULPIT.  219 

species  of  pulpit  eloquence.  We  are  speaking,  it  must  be 
remembered,  simply  of  his  style  :  we  offeree  opinion  on  the 
degree  of  truth  or  error  in  the  system  of  doctrines  he  em 
braced  ;  and  for  his  unchristian  bitterness  and  often  unseemly 
wit,  would  be  the  last  to  offer  any  apology.  But  his  ro 
bust  intellect,  his  shrewd  common  sense,  his  vehement  feel 
ings,  and  a  fancy  always  more  distinguished  by  force  than 
by  elegance,  admirably  qualified  him  for  a  powerful  public 
speaker.  His  style  is  accordingly  marked  by  alt  the  charac 
teristics  which  might  naturally  be  expected  from  the  posses 
sion  of  such  qualities.  It  is  everywhere  direct,  condensed, 
pungent.  His  sermons  are  welt  worthy  of  frequent  and  dil 
igent  perusal  by  every  young  preacher.  He  has  himself 
taught,  both  by  precept  and  example,  the  chief  peculiarities 
of  that  style  for  which  we  are  pleading,  in  a  discourse  on 
Luke  xxi.  15 :  "  For  I  will  give  you  a  mouth  and  wisdom, 
which  all  your  adversaries  shall  not  be  able  to  gainsay  or  re 
sist."  In  one  passage  of  this  sermon  he  takes  occasion  to 
expose  the  folly  of  that  florid  declamation  to  which  his  manly 
intellect  and  taste  were  so  little  likely  to  extend  indulgence. 
In  doing  this,  he  introduces  some  brief  specimens  of  the  style 
which  he  condemns.  Though  he  mentions  no  names,  and 
though  we  might  be  unable  to  refer  the  expressions  to  any 
particular  author,  any  one  might  be  sure,  from  the  expressions 
themselves,  that  he  intended  his  admonitions  for  the  special 
benefit  of  his  illustrious  contemporary,  Jeremy  Taylor.  More 
bold  than  courteous,  he  has  been  at  no  pains  to  invent  expres 
sions  for  his  purpose,  but  has  actually  selected  them  out  of 
Taylor's  own  writings.  There  is  certainly  some  malice  in 
the  passage ;  but  it  is  itself  so  impressive  an  example  of  the 
style  he  is  recommending,  that  we  cannot  refrain  from  ex 
tracting  it :  —  "'I  speak  the  words  of  soberness,'  said  St.  Paul, 
and  I  preach  the  Gospel  not  with  the  '  enticing  words  of  man's 
wisdom.'  This  was  the  way  of  the  Apostle's  discoursing  of 
things  sacred.  Nothing  here  '  of  the  fringes  of  the  north 
star ' ;  nothing  c  of  nature's  becoming  unnatural ' ;  nothing  of 


220  SACRED  ELOQUENCE: 

the  *  down  of  angels'  wings,  or  the  beautiful  locks  of  cheru- 
bims'  :  no  starched  similitudes  introduced  with  a  '  Thus  have 
I  seen  a  cloud  rolling  in  its  airy  mansion,'  and  the  like.  No, 
. —  these  were  sublimities  above  the  rise  of  the  Apostolic  spirit. 
For  the  Apostles,  poor  mortals,  were  content  to  take  lower 
steps,  and  to  tell  the  world  in  plain  terms,  that  he  who  believed 
should  be  saved,  and  that  he  who  believed  not  should  be 
damned.  And  this  was  the  dialect  which  pierced  the  con 
science,  and  made  the  hearers  cry  out,  Men  and  brethren, 
what  shall  we  do  ?  It  tickled  not  the  ear,  but  sunk  into  the 
heart ;  and  when  men  came  from  such  sermons,  they  never 
commended  the  preacher  for  his  taking  voice,  or  gesture  ;  for 
the  fineness  of  such  a  simile,  or  the  quaintness  of  such  a 
sentence ;  but  they  spoke  like  men  conquered  with  the  over 
powering  force  and  evidence  of  the  most  concerning  truths  ; 
much  in  the  words  of  the  two  disciples  going  to  Emmaus, — 
Did  not  our  hearts  burn  within  us  while  he  opened  to  us  the 
Scriptures  ? 

"  In  a  word,  the  Apostles'  preaching  was  therefore  mighty 
and  successful,  because  plain,  natural,  and  familiar,  and  by 
no  means  above  the  capacity  of  their  hearers  :  nothing  being 
more  preposterous,  than  for  those  who  were  professedly  aim 
ing  at  men's  hearts,  to  miss  the  mark  by  shooting  over  their 
heads."  * 

We  are  tempted  to  give  another  short  extract  from  this 
great  preacher ;  we  might  select  some  which  would  still  better 
illustrate  our  present  subject,  but  they  would  be  too  long. 
The  following  is  from  his  sermon  entitled  "  Good  Inclinations 
no  Excuse  for  Bad  Actions"  :  —  u  The  third  instance,  in  which 
men  use  to  plead  the  will  instead  of  the  deed,  shall  be  on  du 
ties  of  cost  and  expense.  Let  a  business  of  expensive  char 
ity  be  proposed  ;  and  then,  as  I  showed  before,  that  in  matters 
of  labor  the  lazy  person  could  find  no  hands  wherewith  to 
work,  so  neither  in  this  case  can  the  religious  miser  find  any 

*  South's  "  Sermons,"  Vol.  IV.  pp.  152,  153. 


THE    BRITISH    PULPIT.  221 

hand  wherewith  to  give.  It  is  wonderful  to  consider,  how  a 
command  or  call  to  be  liberal,  either  upon  a  civil  or  religious 
account,  all  of  a  sudden  impoverishes  the  rich,  breaks  the 
merchant,  shuts  up  every  private  man's  exchequer,  and  makes 
those  men  in  a  minute  have  nothing  at  all  to  give,  who,  at  the 
very  same  instant,  want  nothing  to  spend.  So  that  instead  of 
relieving  the  poor,  such  a  command  strangely  increases  their 
number,  and  transforms  rich  men  into  beggars  presently. 
For,  let  the  danger  of  their  prince  and  country  knock  at  their 
purses,  and  call  upon  them  to  contribute  against  a  public  en 
emy  or  calamity,  then  immediately  they  have  nothing,  and 
their  riches  (as  Solomon  expresses  it)  never  fail  to  make 
themselves  wings,  and  to  fly  away."  * 

Of  the  preachers  of  the  seventeenth  century,  Baxter  pos 
sessed,  as  largely  as  any,  those  endowments  which  are  essential 
to  the  best  kind  of  popular  eloquence.  He  presents  the  same 
combination  of  vigorous  intellect  and  vehement  feeling  which 
distinguished  South  ;  but  he  conjoined  with  these  a  devotion 
far  more  pure  and  ethereal,  and  a  benevolence  most  ardent 
and  sincere.  It  is  a  pity  that  the  slovenly  manner  in  which 
he  threw  off  his  works,  and  which  was  too  commonly  the 
fault  of  the  age  in  which  he  lived,  has  deformed  so  large  a 
portion  of  them  by  repetitions  and  redundances.  Continuous 
excellence  is  not  to  be  looked  for,  indeed,  in  any  of  the  writ 
ers  of  that  period.  There  are  single  passages  of  great  pow 
er  occurring  here  and  there,  but  imbedded  in  a  mass  of  de 
formities,  —  gems  of  marvellous  value  and  splendor  incrust- 
ed  in  their  native  earth.  Numerous  as  Baxter's  defects  in 
point  of  style  are,  he  often  presents  us  with  passages  which 
are  genuine  examples  of  the  most  effective  pulpit  eloquence, 
and,  if  our  space  would  permit,  we  should  be  glad  to  insert 
some  of  them.  Baxter  was  almost  equally  distinguished  by 
those  talents  which  go  to  form  a  great  public  speaker  (hence 
his  constant  desire  to  make  a  direct  and  practical  use  of 


South's  "  Sermons,"  Vol.  I  pp.  278,  279. 
19* 


222  SACRED    ELOQUENCE  : 

all  his  knowledge),  and  by  that  excursiveness  and  subtilty  of 
intellect  which  impels  to  a  thorough  investigation  of  every 
subject,  however  worthless.  It  is  not  a  little  ludicrous  some 
times  to  see  these  two  propensities  of  his  intellect  struggling 
for  the  mastery.  At  one  time  he  forms  a  magnanimous  res 
olution  to  forego  speculations  which  are  curiously  useless,  and 
the  next  is  found  deep  in  the  discussion  of  them.  Thus,  in 
his  "  Dying  Thoughts,"  after  telling  us  of  the  futility  of  the 
greater  part  of  those  questions  which  relate  to  the  modes  of 
existence  in  a  future  world,  he  proceeds  very  deliberately  to 
expend  about  threescore  pages  in  the  examination  of  some 
of  them ! 

Even  in  Jeremy  Taylor,  the  exuberance  of  whose  imagi 
nation  too  often  betrayed  him  into  puerilities  and  extravagan 
ces  which  are  utterly  inconsistent  with  true  eloquence,  and 
whose  cumbrous  erudition  perpetually  suggested  allusions  and 
phraseology  equally  inconsistent  with  it,  passages  which  in 
a  considerable  degree  illustrate  the  style  in  question  are  not 
seldom  to  be  found.  Take  the  following  from  his  sermon  en 
titled  "  Christ's  Advent  to  Judgment "  :  —  "And  because  very 
many  sins  are  sins  of  society  and  confederation,  it  is  a  hard 
and  a  weighty  consideration  what  shall  become  of  any  one 
of  us  who  have  tempted  our  brother  or  sister  to  sin  and  death  : 
for  though  God  hath  spared  our  life,  and  they  are  dead,  and 
their  debt-books  are  sealed  up  till  the  day  of  account,  yet  the 
mischief  of  our  sin  has  gone  before  us,  and  it  is  like  a  mur 
der,  but  more  execrable  ;  the  soul  is  dead  in  trespasses  and 
sirfs,  and  sealed  up  to  an  eternal  sorrow  ;  and  thou  shalt  see 
at  doomsday  what  damnable  uncharitableness  thou  hast  done. 
That  soul  that  cries  to  those  rocks  to  cover  her,  if  it  had  not 
been  for  thy  perpetual  temptations,  might  have  followed  the 
Lamb  in  a  white  robe ;  and  that  poor  man,  that  is  clothed 
with  shame  and  flames  of  fire,  would  have  shined  in  glory, 
but  that  thou  didst  force  him  to  be  partner  of  thy  baseness. 
And  who  shall  pay  for  this  loss  ?  a  soul  is  lost  by  thy  means  ; 
thou  hast  defeated  the  holy  purposes  of  the  Lord's  bitter  pas- 


THE    BRITISH    PULPIT.  223 

sion  by  thy  impurities  ;  and  what  shall  happen  to  thee,  by 
whom  thy  brother  dies  eternally  ?  " 

Of  recent  writers  there  is  none  with  whom  we  are  ac 
quainted,  who,  in  point  of  diction,  so  well  deserves  to  be  a 
model,  as  the  late  Augustus  William  Hare,  to  whom  reference 
has  been  already  made.  We  by  no  means  assert  that  (as 
was  the  case  with  Latimer,  South,  or  Baxter)  the  general 
structure  of  his  intellect  was  that  which  plainly  predestines  a 
man  to  be  a  great  public  speaker.  Of  many  of  the  qualifica 
tions  of  one  he  was  certainly  possessed  ;  and  it  is  equally  cer 
tain  that  his  early  death,  and  the  humble  sphere  to  which  his 
talents  were  restricted,  render  it  impossible  to  say  what  he 
might  have  become.  He  possessed,  in  an  eminent  degree, 
the  art  of  making  difficult  things  plain  ;  of  setting  obvious 
truths  in  novel  lights  ;  of  illustrating  them  by  familiar  images  ; 
and  of  expressing  them  in  a  style  habitually  animated,  and 
now  and  then  singularly  vivacious.  His  sermons  to  a  "  Coun 
try  Congregation  "  will  probably  disappoint,  by  their  very 
simplicity,  the  highly  cultivated  and  intelligent,  —  for  whom, 
indeed,  they  were  never  intended  ;  although  we  cannot  con 
ceal  our  opinion,  that  the  extreme  simplicity  of  the  language 
would  often  deceive  even  such  readers  as  to  the  value  and 
importance  of  the  thoughts  it  expresses.  But  for  an  illiterate 
audience,  —  an  audience  of  rustics,  —  they  appear  to  us,  in 
point  of  diction,  perfect  models  of  what  discourses  ought 
to  be. 

Their  author  was  a  man  of  powerful  intellect,  and  of  the 
most  varied  accomplishments,  and  affords  a  striking  example 
of  the  success  with  which  high  endowments  may  be  made 
subservient  to  a  very  humble  object,  whenever  a  man  is  hon 
estly  bent  upon  so  employing  them.  His  great  knowledge, 
instead  of  being  employed  for  ostentation's  sake,  only  taught 
him  more  precisely  what  was  to  be  done,  and  how  he  ought 
to  set  about  it.  To  the  most  extensive  acquaintance  with 
ancient  and  modern  literature,  he  added  no  inconsiderable 
knowledge  of  Anglo-Saxon,  and  consequently  possessed  (what 


224  SACRED  ELOQUENCE: 

no  public  speaker  should  be  without)  an  acquaintance  with 
the  capabilities  and  resources  of  his  mother-tongue,  —  with 
the  vocabulary  and  idioms  of  the  people.  When  he  left  Cam 
bridge  to  undertake  the  charge  of  a  congregation  in  a  remote 
rural  district,  he  resolved  so  to  express  himself  that  all  should 
understand  him  ;  and  his  eminent  success  shows  what  may  be 
done  by  one  who  forms  a  definite  notion  of  the  style  he  ought 
to  adopt,  and  deliberately  bends  his  best  energies  to  attain  it. 
The  above-mentioned  sermons  to  a  "  Country  Congregation," 
we  consider  a  greater  triumph  of  his  genius  than  all  the 
splendid  acquisitions  he  had  made  ;  and  if  Dr  Johnson's  sen 
timent  be  true,  that  a  "  voluntary  descent  from  the  dignity  of 
science  is  perhaps  the  hardest  lesson  that  humility  can  teach," 
the  triumph  of  his  humility  was  still  greater  than  that  of  his 
genius. 

We  are  well  aware  of  the  many  difficulties  which  beset 
the  man  who  honestly  resolves  to  speak  only  in  the  style  we 
have  recommended  ;  —  difficulties  sometimes  arising  from 
the  intellectual  pursuits  to  which  he  has  been  necessarily 
addicted,  —  sometimes  from  the  peculiarity  of  his  own  men 
tal  character.  Nursed  in  the  lap  of  learning,  and  familiar 
with  the  language  of  science  and  literature  ;  necessitated,  in 
the  very  course  of  those  preparatory  studies  which  form  an 
essential  part  of  his  professional  education,  to  read  much  in 
foreign  tongues,  and  to  prosecute  profound  or  abstruse  inqui 
ries,  he  will  be  apt,  insensibly,  to  select  subjects,  or  adopt  a 
style,  utterly  inconsistent  with  pulpit  eloquence.  He  may 
still  more  frequently  be  betraye'd  into  such  conduct  by  affec 
tation  and  vanity.  The  very  peculiarities  of  his  own  mental 
constitution  may  expose  him  more  fatally  to  the  danger,  and 
require  continual  efforts  to  counteract  them.  If  he  be  a 
philosopher,  he  will  be  tempted  to  indulge  too  much  in  ab 
struse  speculation,  or  to  treat  those  subjects  on  which  he 
may  rightfully  expatiate  in  a  philosophic  manner,  —  in  lan 
guage  too  abstract  and  remote  from  common  life.  If  he 
have  a  brilliant  imagination,  he  will  often  be  tempted  to  em- 


THE    BRITISH    PULPIT.  225 

ploy  it  inopportunely  or  to  excess,  and  will  find  it  hard  to 
restrain  it  within  the  moderate  limits  in  which  alone  it  can 
be  useful.  In  order  to  counteract  the  accidental  evils  arising 
from  th^  necessary  prosecution  of  various  branches  of  study, 
which,  in  relation  to  public  speaking,  may  injuriously  affect 
the  habits  of  thought  or  of  expression,  it  is  proper  that  every 
one  who  is  destined  for  such  engagements  should  cultivate 
acquaintance  with  the  most  idiomatic  writers,  —  understand 
the  genius  and  resources  of  his  own  language,  —  the  modes 
of  thought  and  expression  prevalent  amongst  the  common 
people,  —  and,  above  all,  be  diligent  in  the  perusal  of  the 
best  models  of  that  severe  and  manly  eloquence  of  which 
we  have  said  so  much.  The  success  of  Mr.  Hare  may  serve 
to  show  how  much  may  be  done  by  honesty  and  diligence. 
Nor  can  it  fail  to  encourage  the  young  preacher  to  know, 
that,  if  he  gets  but  a  clear  idea  of  the  task  which  he  has  to 
perform,  and  honestly  resolves  to  perform  it,  there  is  not 
one  of  those  things  which  we  have  mentioned  as  possible 
impediments,  that  may  not  be  made  to  facilitate  his  object. 
All  that  is  requisite  is  a  determination,  that,  as  he  has  a  prac 
tical  object  in  view,  every  thing  shall  be  strictly  subordinated 
to  it.  Philosophy,  for"  example,  may  be  made  useful  ;  but 
it  must  be  principally  by  teaching  him  to  understand  the 
mechanism  and  movements  of  that  mind  on  which  he  is  to 
operate.  The  audience  must  not  perceive  or  suspect  that 
the  speaker  is  following  the  suggestions  of  any  such  invisible 
guide  ;  or,  if  it  be  employed  directly  at  all,  it  still  must  be 
unsuspected  by  the  common  people  to  be  philosophy  :  it  must 
be  employed  merely  to  insure  greater  accuracy  and  com 
prehensiveness  in  the  views  propounded  ;  and  to  determine 
the  circumspect  limits  within  which  every  subject  must  be 
treated  ;  —  that  is,  so  far,  and  so  far  only,  as  it  may  be  made 
conducive  to  a  practical  end.  In  a  word,  it  must  be  philos 
ophy  without  the  forms  of  it ;  philosophy  in  its  working 
dress  ;  philosophy  that  has  learned  one  of  its  hardest  lessons, 
that  it  is  often  the  truest  philosophy  not  to  appear  such.  In 


226  SACRED    ELOQUENCE  I 

like  manner,  the  speaker  may  have  a  knowledge  of  logic  ; 
but  it  must  be  seen  only  in  the  greater  perspicuity  of  his 
statements,  and  the  greater  closeness  of  his  reasoning.  He 
must  never  trouble  the  people  with  the  mysteries  of  mood  and 
figure,  or  bewilder  them  with  a  single  unintelligible  techni 
cality.  He  may  possess  a  knowledge  of  rhetoric  ;  but  he 
is  not  to  confound  his  audience  with  the  distinctions  of  trope 
and  metaphor,  —  with  the  uses  of  synecdoches  or  metony 
mies,  —  with  those  principles  of  the  human  mind  which  give 
them  energy,  —  or  the  rules  by  which,  at  the  very  time  he 
is  speaking,  he  is  regulating  his  own  taste  in  the  employment 
of  them.  Here  is  a  "  hard  lesson  !  who  can  hear  it  ?  "  To 
be  employing  profound  and  extensive  knowledge  without 
suffering  those  you  address  to  know  any  thing  of  the  matter. ! 
To  be  contented  to  produce  results  which  seem  cheap  and 
common,  without  once  lifting  the  curtain  to  bewilder  and 
dazzle  the  multitude  with  a  sight  of  the  imposing  and  com 
plicated  machinery  which  is  revolving  behind  it ! 

It  is  happily  unnecessary  to  caution  the  modern  preacher 
against  many  of  the  abuses  which  pervade  our  older  pulpit 
literature,  —  especially  that  of  the  seventeenth  century  ;  — 
a  period,  notwithstanding,  in  which  many  of  our  most  em 
inent  preachers  flourished.  We  allude  more  particularly  to 
the  abuse  of  learning.  Most  of  the  sermons  of  that  age 
are  full  of  quotations,  absolutely  unintelligible  to  the  common 
people.  Numberless  passages  of  Jeremy  Taylor,  in  partic 
ular,  are  little  better  than  a  curious  tessellation  of  English, 
Greek,  and  Latin.  The  people,  however  strange  the  fact 
may  appear,  came  at  last  not  merely  to  like  these  displays, 
but  to  be  sometimes  discontented  if  they  did  not  hear  a  great 
deal  which  they  could  not  understand  !  It  is  recorded  of  the 
profoundly  learned  Pococke,  that  when  he  successfully  studied 
to  divest  his  pulpit  style  of  the  traces  of  erudition,  and,  with 
a  magnanimity  and  good  sense  very  unusual  in  that  age, 
made  it  a  point  to  say  nothing  but  what  the  people  could  un 
derstand,  his  congregation  absolutely  despised  his  simplicity, 


THE    BRITISH    PULPIT.  227 

and  said  that  "  Master  Pococke,  though  a  very  good  man, was 
no  Latiner"  And  South  tells  us,  "  that  the  grossest,  the 
most  ignorant  and  illiterate  country  people,  were  of  all  men 
the  fondest  of  high-flown  metaphors  and  allegories,  attended 
and  set  off  with  scraps  of  Greek  and  Latin,  though  not  able 
even  to  read  so  much  of  the  latter  as  might  save  their  necks 
upon  occasion." 

Equally  unnecessary  is  it  to  caution  the  preacher  against 
those  complicated  divisions  and  subdivisions  into  which  our 
forefathers  thought  proper  to  chop  up  their  discourses,  to  the 
entire  frustration  of  the  very  object  they  had  in  view,  and 
the  utter  discomfiture  of  the  most  retentive  memory.  In  one 
discourse  of  Bishop  Hall's,  we  have  counted  no  less  than 
eighty  heads,  principal  and  subordinate,  —  in  one  of  Baxter's, 
not  less  than  one  hundred  and  twenty,  besides  a  formidable 
array  of  "  improvements."  But  the  most  amusing  examples 
of  this  abuse  are  those  recorded  in  Robinson's  notes  to 
Claude's  Essay  "  On  the  Composition  of  a  Sermon  "  :  — 
u  But  allowing  the  necessity  of  a  natural  and  easy  division, 
it  does  by  no  means  follow  that  these  are  to  multiply  into 
whole  armies.  A  hundred  years  ago  most  sermons  had  thirty, 
forty,  fifty,  or  sixty  particulars.  There  is  a  sermon  of  Mr. 
Lye's  on  1  Cor.  vi.  17,  the  terms  of  which,  says  he,  I  shall 
endeavor,  by  God's  assistance,  charly  to  explain.  This  he 
does  in  thirty  particulars,  for  the  fixing  of  it  on  a  right  basis, 
and  then  adds  fifty-six  more  to  explain  the  subject,  in  all 
eighty-six.  And  what  makes  it  the  more  astonishing  is  his 
introduction  to  all  these,  which  is  this  :  Having  thus  beaten 
up  and  levelled  our  way  to  the  text,  I  shall  not  stand  to  shred 
the  words  into  any  unnecessary  parts,  but  shall  extract  out 
of  them  such  an  observation  as  I  conceive  strikes  a  full  eighth 
to  the  mind  of  the  spirit  of  God. 

"  If  Mr.  Lye  is  too  prolific,  what  shall  we  say  to  Mr. 
Drake,  whose  sermon  has  (if  I  reckon  rightly)  above  a  hun 
dred  and  seventy  parts,  besides  queries  and  solutions  ;  and 
yet  the  good  man  says  he  passed  sundry  useful  points,  pitch- 


228  SACRED   ELOQUENCE ! 

ing  only  on  that  which  comprehended   the  marrow  and  sub 
stance" 

Equally  superfluous  would  it  be  to  caution  the  modern 
preacher  against  the  quaintnesses,  the  quirks  and  quibbles, 
the  fantastic  imagery,  the  alliterations,  and  other  curious 
devices  of  composition,  in  which  many  of  our  older  writers 
so  much  delighted.  In  truth,  the  tendency  is  all  the  other 
way.  In  the  laudable  effort  to  avoid  the  vulgar,  there  is  not 
imfrequently  a  danger  of  sinking  down  into  tame  propriety. 
Our  old  writers,  in  their  free  and  reckless  resort  to  every 
mode  of  stimulating  attention,  were  often,  it  is  true,  be 
trayed  into  gross  violations  of  taste  ;  but  the  very  same  au 
dacity  of  genius  also  often  produced  great  felicities,  both  of 
imagery  and  diction.  The  too  frequent  characteristic  of 
modern  discourses  is  what  the  Germans  would  denominate 
"  Wasserigkeit,"  "  waterishness "  :  there  is  little  to  strike, 
either  the  one  way  or  the  other  ;  all  is  blameless  common 
place,  accurate  insipidity. 

We  now  proceed,  conformably  with  the  intention  mentioned 
at  the  commencement  of  this  essay,  to  offer  a  few  remarks 
on  what  we  conceive  to  be  the  two  chief  causes  of  the  me 
diocrity  of  the  generality  of  sermons.  One  of  them  in  our 
opinion  is,  that  too  little  time  is  given  to  the  preparation  of 
public  discourses.  Far  be  it  from  us  to  involve  in  indiscrim 
inate  censure  the  thousands  of  preachers  whom  we  have 
never  heard,  or  to  pronounce  absolutely  on  the  indolence  or 
the  industry  even  of  those  to  whom  we  have  listened.  We 
only  think  that  the  failing  in  question  is  not  a  very  partial 
one,  from  the  internal  evidence  supplied  by  the  sermons  of 
no  inconsiderable  number  of  the  different  preachers  whom 
we  have  heard.  We  are  also  willing  to  admit,  that  the  duties 
of  the  pulpit  are  not  the  only  duties  which  claim  the  atten 
tion  of  the  Christian  minister  ;  and  that  his  other  engage 
ments,  in  an  age  like  this,  are  neither  few  nor  small.  But 
we  must  also  contend,  that,  as  his  principal  office  is  that  of 


THE    BRITISH    PULPIT.  .  229 

public  instructor,  the  duties  of  that  office  must  ever  be  his 
chief  business  ;  and  that,  to  whatever  extent  he  may  under 
take  other  engagements,  he  should  sacredly  reserve  sufficient 
time"  for  the  due  discharge  of  his  proper  functions.  The 
construction  of  a  discourse  which  shall  be  adapted  in  matter, 
arrangement,  and  style,  to  produce  a  strong  impression  upon 
a  popular  audience,  seems  a  task  which  requires  much  more 
time  and  labor  than,  as  we  conceive,  are  generally  bestowed 
upon  it.  But  we  are  convinced  that  this  task,  difficult  as  it 
is,  might  be  performed  much  better  than  it  generally  is.  We 
are  well  aware,  of  course,  that  there  must  always  be  an 
immense  interval  between  the  productions  of  a  man  of  genius 
and  those  of  a  man  who  has  no  genius  at  all,  —  between 
those  of  a  fertile  intellect  and  those  of  a  barren  one  ;  but 
there  are  few  men  possessed  of  that  measure  of  vigor  and 
elasticity  of  mind,  without  which  they  have  no  business  out 
of  the  rank  of  handicraftsmen,  who  could  not,  with  diligence, 
compose  a  discourse  which  might  be  generally  useful  and  in 
teresting,  at  least  much  more  so  than  discourses  are  often 
found  to  be.  Prolonged  study  and  meditation  are  never  with 
out  their  reward.  Either  some  new  materials  are  collected, 
or  they  strike  by  a  new  arrangement,  or  some  new  truth  is 
elicited,  or  some  old  truth  is  exhibited  under  a  new  aspect, 
or  illustrated  in  a  manner  which  gives  it  an  importance  nev 
er  felt  before,  and  extends  its  influence  from  the  understand 
ing  to  the  imagination,  and  thence  to  the  affections.  Such 
sources  of  interest  as  these  are  sure  to  reveal  themselves, 
sooner  or  later,  to  the  mind  that  honestly  and  diligently  sets 
itself  to  seek  them  with  the  conviction  that  they  are  to  be 
had,  and  that  they  must  be  obtained.* 

*  How  much  force  is  imparted  to  the  most  familiar  and  obvious  truths 
in  the  following  passages,  merely  by  the  novel  mode  of  exhibiting  them  ? 

"  '  Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  are  weary  and  heavy  laden,  and  I  will 

give  you  rest.'  —  If  an  inhabitant  of  some  distant  part  of  the  universe  — 

some  angel  who  had  never  visited  the  earth  —  had  been  told  that  there 

was  a  world  in  which  such  an  invitation  had  been  neglected  and  despised, 

20 


230  SACRED    ELOQUENCE  : 

Without  intending  to  implicate  Christian  ministers  generally 
in  the  charge  now  made,  it  will  not  be  denied  that  the  inter 
nal  evidence  of  many  a  discourse  justifies  us  in  saying  that 
it  is  widely  applicable.  In  the  first  place,  it  can  hardly  be 
affirmed  that  those  give  time  enough  to  their  sermons  who 
give  none  at  all  ;  who,  if  they  are  ever  eloquent,  are  eloquent 
at  other  people's  expense ;  who  are  contented  to  be  whole 
sale  plagiarists,  and  to  shine  Sunday  after  Sunday  in  borrowed 
finery, — 

"And  cheat  the  eyes 
Of  gallery  critics  with  a  thousand  arts." 

We  well  know  all  the  arguments  by  which  this  combination 
of  vanity  and  indolence  usually  supports  itself.  The  princi 
pal  is,  that  a  man  of  little  talent  can  buy  or  borrow  a  much 

they  would  surely  say :  The  inhabitants  of  that  world  must  be  a  very 
happy  people  ;  there  can  be  few  among  them  that '  labor  and  are  heavy 
laden.'  No  doubt  they  must  be  strangers  to  poverty,  sorrow,  and  mis 
fortune;  the  pestilence  cannot  come  nigh  their  dwelling,  neither  does 
death  ever  knock  at  their  doors,  and  of  course  they  must  be  unconnnect- 
ed  with  sin,  and  all  the  miseries  that  are  its  everlasting  attendants."  — 
Wolfe's  Remains. 

"  Though  the  arguments  which  the  Christian  hath  for  his  faith  may 
not  be  the  strongest,  yet  a  tree  but  weakly  rooted  often  brings  forth  good 
fruit ;  and  if  it  doth,  wjll  never  be  hewn  down  and  cast  into  the  fire."  — 
Seeker's  Sermons,  Vol.  I.  p.  20. 

The  following  is  a  passage  from  Hare's  sermon  on  the  text,  "  And  for 
give  us  our  sins ;  for  we  also  forgive  every  one  who  is  indebted  to  us  "  :  — 

"  Conceive  a  revengeful,  unforgiving  man  repeating  this  prayer,  which 
you  all,  I  hope,  repeat  daily.  Conceive  a  man  with  a  heart  full  of  wrath 
against  his  neighbor,  with  a  memory  which  treasures  up  the  little  wrongs, 
and  insults,  and  provocations  he  fancies  himself  to  have  received  from 
that  neighbor.  Conceive  such  a  man  praying  to  God  Most  High  to  for 
give  him  his  trespasses  as  he  forgives  the  man  who  has  trespassed 
against  him.  What,  in  the  mouth  of  such  a  man,  do  these  words  mean  1 
They  mean  —  but,  that  you  may  more  fully  understand  their  meaning, 
I  will  turn  them  into  a  prayer,  which  we  will  call  the  prayer  of  the  un 
forgiving  man :  —  «  O  God,  I  have  sinned  against  thee  many  times  from 
my  youth  up  until  now.  I  have  often  been  forgetful  of  thy  goodness ; 


THE    BRITISH    PULPIT.  231 

better  sermon  than  he  can  make.  We  freely  acknowledge 
it,  and  should  not  make  so  great  an  objection  to  the  practice, 
if  the  preacher  would  avow  the  fact.  This  we  think  common 
honesty  requires  ;  but  if  it  be  felt,  as  every  one  must  fee?, 
that  such  an  avowal  would  put  the  speaker  to  shame,  or,  if 
he  were  past  that,  would  make  his  audience  ashamed  for  him, 
it  is  a  tacit  admission  of  the  impropriety  of  the  practice. 

But  we  think  the  argument  altogether  fallacious.  Suppos 
ing  the  preacher  not  to  be  destitute,  of  that  measure  of  talent 
without  which  he  has  no  business  to  assume  the  office  of  a 
public  instructor  at  all,  we  deny  in  toto  that  a  borrowed  dis 
course,  whatever  its  merit,  can  be  so  impressive  as  one,  even 
though  intrinsically  inferior,  which  has  been  made  his  own 
by  conscientious  study.  The  latter  is  the  fruit  of  diligent  ef 
fort;  prolonged  meditation  will  insure  familiarity  with  the 

I  have  not  daily  thanked  thee  for  thy  mercies  ;  I  have  neglected  thy 
service ;  I  have  broken  thy  laws ;  I  have  done  many  things  utterly  wrong 
against  thee.  All  this  I  know,  and  besides  this,  doubtless,  I  have  com 
mitted  many  secret  sins  which,  in  my  blindness,  I  have  failed  to  notice. 
Such  is  my  guiltiness,  0  Lord,  in  thy  sight.  Deal  with  me,  I  beseech 
thee,  even  as  I  deal  with  my  neighbor.  He  has  not  offended  me  one 
tenth,  one  hundredth  part  as  much  as  I  have  offended  thee;  but  he  has 
offended  me  very  grievously,  and  I  cannot  forgive  him.  Deal  with  me, 
I  beseech  thee,  0  Lord,  as  I  deal  with  him.  He  has  been  very  ungrate 
ful  to  me,  though  not  a  tenth,  not  a  hundredth  part  as  ungrateful  as  I 
have  been  to  thee  ;  yet  I  cannot  overlook  such  base  and  shameful  ingrat 
itude.  Deal  with  me,  I  beseech  thee,  O  Lord,  as  I  deal  with  him.  I 
remember  and  treasure  up  every  little  trifle  which  shows  how  ill  he  has 
behaved  to  me.  Deal  with  me,  I  beseech  thee,  O  Lord,  as  I  deal  with 
him.  I  am  determined  to  take  the  very  first  opportunity  of  doing  him 
an  ill  turn.  Deal  with  me,  I  beseech  thee,  0  Lord,  as  I  deal  with  him." 
Can  any  thing  be  more  shocking  and  horrible  than  such  a  prayer  ?  Is 
not  the  very  sound  of  it  enough  to  make  one's  blood  run  cold  ?  Yet 
this  is  just  the  prayer  which  the  unforgiving  man  offers  up  every  time 
he  repeats  the  Lord's  prayer  ;  for  he  prays  to  God  to  forgive  him  in  the 
same  manner  in  which  he  forgives  his  neighbor.  But  he  does  not  for 
give  his  neighbor ;  so  he  prays  to  God  not  to  forgive  him.  God  grant 
that  his  prayer  may  not  be  heard,  for  he  is  praying  a  curse  on  his  own 
head !  "  —  Hare's  Sermons,  Vol.  II.  pp.  297  -  299. 


232  SACRED    ELOQUENCE  I 

subject,  and  both  together  insure,  what  nothing  else  can,  ad 
equate  emotion.  It  will,  accordingly,  be  delivered  with,  an 
earnestness  and  glow  of  natural  feeling,  of  which  the  reading 
of  a  borrowed  discourse  is  altogether  destitute.  The  treas 
ures  of  theological  literature,  —  whatever  is  valuable  in  oth 
er  men's  thoughts,  —  are  freely  open  to  the  preacher;  but  he 
should  ever  seek  to  make  them  his  own  by  new  combinations, 
arrangement,  and  expression.  The  matter  he  borrows  should 
be  made  his  by  chemical  affinities  with  his  own  thoughts,  not 
by  mere  mechanical  appropriation. 

As  to  those  discourses  which  are  commonly  called  extem 
poraneous,  we  mean  extemporaneous  with  regard  to  the 
expression,  for  the  bulk  of  the  thoughts  ought  never  to  be 
extemporaneous,  it  is  our  firm  belief  that  no  inconsiderable 
portion  to  which  the  Christian  communities  of  this  country 
are  treated,  are  hastily  huddled  up  on  the  evening  preceding 
their  delivery.  But  we  believe  that  not  a  few  are  quite  as 
extemporaneous  in  relation  to  the  thought,  as  they  are  in  re 
lation  to  the  expression.  When  this  is  the  case,  the  fact 
usually  proclaims  itself  with  sufficient  clearness  ;  the  painful 
process  by  which  the  mind  is  endeavoring  to  manufacture 
the  material  as  the  discourse  proceeds,  is  abundantly  visible 
both  in  face  and  manner.  The  frequent  hesitation,  the  curi 
ously  bewildered  look,  the  endless  repetitions  of  common 
place,  the  wire-drawing  of  obvious  truths,  —  all  unequivocally 
proclaim  the  speaker's  unenviable  confusion  and  embarrass 
ment,  his  utter  bankruptcy  of  intellect.  The  wonder  is,  that 
any  man  who  has  felt  the  misery  of  such  an  exhibition,  or 
subjected  his  congregation  to  the  pain  of  witnessing  it,  should 
ever  again  allow  himself  to  be  found  in  so  painful  a  situation. 

Even  of  discourses  where  the  thoughts  are  not  properly 
extemporaneous,  —  and  if  the  subject  has  been  duly  pondered, 
the  matter  properly  distributed,  and  the  principal  illustrations 
selected,  we  cannot  but  think  this  the  most  effective,  as  it  is 
certainly  the  most  natural,  mode  of  preaching,  —  very  few, 
comparatively  speaking,  are  prepared  with  the  requisite  degree 


THE    BRITISH    PULPIT.  233 

of  deliberation  and  care.  Owing  to  the  hasty  manner  in 
which  they  are  got  up,  the  subjects  are  rarely  sufficiently  di 
gested  ;  the  several  parts  of  the  discourse  do  not  present 
themselves  to  the  mind  with  sufficient  distinctness ;  and,  what 
is  as  bad,  the  great  task  of  selection  is  not  adequately  per 
formed  after  the  materials  have  been  got  together.  Knowing 
that  he  must  have  a  sufficient  mass  of  matter  of  some  kind  or 
other,  conscious  that  there  is  not  much  time  to  collect  it,  and 
grievously  fearing  lest  he  should  not  have  enough,  the  preach 
er  takes  every  thing  that  offers,  relevant  or  irrelevant,  simply 
because  it  cannot  be  dispensed  with.  The  process  too  often 
adopted  in  the  manufacture  of  these  extemporaneous  dis 
courses,  we  take  to  be  this.  A  text  is  selected  ;  critics  and 
commentators  hastily  consulted ;  and  as  it  is  felt  that  every 
thing  must  be  used,  all  that  is  collected  about  the  text,  whether 
relevant  or  not,  whether  calculated  to  instruct  and  edify,  or 
quite  unlikely  to  do  either  the  one  or  the  other,  goes  into  the 
notes,  simply  because  it  cannot  be  spared.  It  is  owing  to  this 
that  we  have  sometimes  heard  preachers  occupy  a  quarter  of 
an  hour,  or  twenty  minutes,  (exhausting  the  patience  and  dis 
sipating  the  attention  of  their  flocks,)  in  disposing  of  some 
whimsical,  far-fetched,  and  palpably  untrue  interpretation  of 
the  text;  benevolently  assuring  them,  at  the  same  time,  that 
such  interpretations  are  utterly  worthless,  never  dreamt  of  ex 
cept  by  the  solitary  author  who  originated  them,  and  perfect 
ly  inconsistent  with  common  sense  ! 

There  are  not  a  few  fallacies  by  which  some  preachers  im 
pose  upon  themselves  the  belief,  that  less  preparation  is  neces 
sary  than  is  really  indispensable.  They  think  that  the  topics 
on  which  they  have  to  insist  are  so  familiar  and  obvious,  that  it 
is  easy  to  discourse  about  them  to  any  extent.  It  is  clear  that 
this  argument  ought  to  tell  just  the  other  way  ;  it  is  precisely 
because  the  topics  on  which  the  Christian  minister  has  to  ex 
patiate  are  so  familiar  and  obvious,  that  the  more  diligence  is 
requisite  to  set  them  in  new  lights  ;  —  to  devise  new  modes 
of  illustration,  and  to  secure  the  requisite  variety,  by  changing 

20* 


234  SACRED    ELOQUENCE  : 

the  form  where  we  cannot  change  the  substance.  In  this 
way  only  can  exhausted  attention  be  stimulated  and  renewed ; 
but  in  this  way  it  can.  As  the  instances  recently  adduced 
will  show,  even  the  most  obvious  and  threadbare  truths  may 
be  made  striking  and  forcible  by  a  new  setting. 

Sometimes  men  will  tell  us  that  they  prefer  a  natural  and 
artless  eloquence,  and  that  very  diligent  preparation  is  incon 
sistent  with  such  qualities.  We  verily  believe  that  this  falla 
cy,  though  it  lurks  under  an  almost  transparent  ambiguity,  is 
of  most  prejudicial  consequence.  Nature  and  art,  so  far  from 
being  always  opposed,  are  often  the  very  same  thing.  Thus, 
to  adduce  a  familiar  example,  and  closely  related  to  the 
present  subject,  it  is  natural  for  a  man  who  feels  that  he 
has  not  given  adequate  expression  to  a  thought,  though  he 
may  have  used  the  first  words  suggested,  to  attempt  it  again 
and  again.  He,  each  time,  approximates  nearer  to  the  mark, 
and  at  length  desists,  satisfied  either  that  he  has  done  what 
he  wishes,  or  that  he  cannot  perfectly  do  it,  as  the  case  may 
be.  A  writer,  with  this  end,  is  continually  transposing  claus 
es,  reconstructing  sentences,  striking  out  one  word  and  put 
ting  in  another-.  All  this  may  be  said  to  be  art,  or  the  delib 
erate  application  of  means  to  ends  ;  but  is  it  art  inconsistent 
with  nature  ?  It  is  just  such  art  as  this  that  we  ask  of  the 
preacher,  and  no  other  ;  simply  that  he  shall  take  diligent 
heed  to  do  what  he  has  to  do  as  well  as  he  can.  Let  him 
depend  upon  it,  that  no  such  art  as  this  will  ever  make  him 
appear  the  less  natural. 

A  similar  fallacy  lurks  under  the  unmeaning  praises  which 
are  often  bestowed  upon  a  simple  style  of  address.  We  love 
a  true  simplicity  as  much  as  any  of  its  eulogists  can  do  ;  but 
we  should  probably  differ  about  the  meaning  of  the  word. 
While  some  men  talk  as  if  to  speak  naturally  were  to  speak 
like  a  natural,  others  talk  as  if  to  speak  with  simplicity  meant 
to  speak  like  a  simpleton.  True  simplicity  does  not  consist  in 
what  is  trite,  bald,  or  commonplace.  So  far  as  regards  the 
thought,  it  means,  not  what  is  already  obvious  to  every  body, 


THE    BRITISH  PULPIT.  235 

but  what,  though  not  obvious,  is  immediately  recognized,  as 
soon  as  propounded,  to  be  true  and  striking.  As  it  regards 
the  expression,  it  means,  that  thoughts  worth  hearing  are  ex 
pressed  in  language  that  every  one  can  understand.  In  the  first 
point  of  view,  it  is  opposed  to  what  is  abstruse  ;  in  the  second, 
to  what  is  obscure.  It  is  not  what  some  men  take  it  to  mean, 
threadbare,  commonplace,  expressed  in  insipid  language.  It 
can  be  owing  only  to  a  fallacy  of  this  kind,  that  we  so  often 
hear  discourses,  consisting  of  little  else  than  meagre  truisms, 
expanded  and  diluted  till  every  mortal  ear  aches  that  listens. 
We  have  heard  preachers  commence  with  the  tritest  of  truths, 
—  "all  men  are  mortal,"  —  and  proceed  to  illustrate  it  with 
as  much  prolixity  as  though  they  were  announcing  it  as  a 
new  proposition  to  a  company  of  immortals  in  some  distant 
planet,  sceptical  as  to  the  reality  of  a  fact  so  portentous,  and 
so  unauthenticated  by  their  own  experience. 

True  simplicity  is  the  last  and  most  excellent  grace  which 
can  belong  to  a  speaker,  and  is  certainly  not  to  be  attained 
without  much  effort.  Those  who  have  attentively  read  the 
present  article  will  not  suspect  us  of  demanding  more  delib 
erate  preparation  on  the  part  of  the  preacher,  that  he  may 
offer  what  is  profound,  recondite,  or  abstruse  ;  but  that  he 
may  say  only  what  he  ought  to  say,  and  that  what  he  does 
say  may  be  better  said.  When  the  topics  are  such  only  as 
ought  to  be  insisted  on,  and  the  language  such  as  is  readily 
understood,  the  preacher  may  depend  upon  it  that  no  pains 
he  may  take  will  be  lost,  —  that  his  audience,  however  home 
ly,  will  be  sure  to  appreciate  them, —  and  that  the  better  a 
discourse  is,  the  better  they  will  like  it. 

We  have  stated  as  the  other  great  cause  of  the  failure  of 
preachers,  that  they  are  not  sufficiently  instructed  in  the  prin 
ciples  of  pulpit  eloquence.  We  are  far  from  contending  that  a 
systematic  exposition  of  the  laws,  in  conformity  with  which  all 
effective  discourses  to  the  people  must  be  constructed,  should 
be  made  a  part  of  general  education  ;  or  that  it  ought  to  be 
imparted  even  to  him  who  is  destined  to  be  a  public  speaker  till- 


236  SACRED   ELOQUENCE  : 

his  general  training,  and  that  a  very  ample  one,  is  far  ad 
vanced.  But  that  such  knowledge  shall  be  acquired  by  every 
one  designed  for  such  an  office,  and  that  all  universities  and 
colleges  should  furnish  the  means  of  communicating  it,  we 
have  no  manner  of  doubt.  It  is  sometimes  said,  indeed,  that 
all  systematic  instruction  of  this  sort  tends  to  spoil  nature, 
prevent  simplicity,  and  encourage  vanity  ;  —  in  short,  that  it 
is  sure  to  produce  one  or  other  of  the  forms  of  spurious  or 
artificial  eloquence.  We  ask,  Does  the  objector  mean  any 
such  system  as  approves  of  such  things,  or  one  that  con 
demns  them  ?  If  the  former,  we  know  of  no  such  system  ; 
if  the  latter,  then  he  must  defend  the  paradox,  that  such  sys 
tems  have,  somehow  or  other,  a  tendency  to  produce  the  very 
faults  which  they  expose  and  denounce,  and  to  prevent  the 
attainment  of  those  very  excellences  which  they  describe  as 
the  only  ones  worth  seeking  !  Now,  is  it  possible  for  any 
sane  mind  to  conceive  that  the  ridicule  which  Campbell  and 
Whately,  for  example,  pour  upon  such  faults,  can  foster  in 
any  youth  a  perverse  passion  for  them  ?  Or  that  the  severity, 
simplicity,  earnest  business-like  style,  which  these  writers 
everywhere  enjoin  as  essential  to  all  effective  eloquence, 
should  provoke  any  man  to  the  imitation  of  the  opposite  vices  ? 
The  supposition  is  an  absurdity.  So  far  as  such  writers  pro 
duce  any  effect  at  all,  it  must  be  to  prevent  the  follies  which 
they  so  unsparingly  condemn.  Those  who  attribute  vicious 
eloquence  to  sound  criticism,  have  been  guilty  merely  of  the 
common  blunder  of  assigning  effects  to  wrong  causes  ;  only  it 
must  be  confessed  that,  in  the  present  case,  they  show  singu 
lar  ingenuity  in  referring  them  to  the  only  causes  which  could 
not  by  possibility  produce  them.  The  simple  truth  is,  that  the 
bent  of  the  young  mind  is  so  strong  towards  various  forms  of 
this  spurious  eloquence,  that  it  resists  the  most  powerful 
counteraction ;  and  time  and  experience  alone  will  avail,  and 
not  always  even  these,  to  give  precepts  their  due  weight  and 
their  just  practical  influence.  To  charge  such  effects  upon 
such  causes,  is  about  as  wise  as  it  would  be  to  say  of  some 


THE    BRITISH    PULPIT.  237 

spot  which  had  been  but  partially  cultivated,  and  from  which 
the  weeds  which  nature  had  so  prodigally  sown  had  not  been 
completely  eradicated  :  "  This  comes  of  gardening  and  ar 
tificial  culture  !  " 

Youthful  vanity  and  inexperience  alone  sufficiently  ac 
count  for  the  greater  part  of  the  deviations  from  propriety, 
simplicity,  and  common  sense,  now  adverted  to.  Those 
who  laud  nature  in  opposition  to  art,  are  too  apt  to  forget  that 
this  very  vanity  forms  a  part  of  it.  It  is  natural  for  a  youth, 
whether  with  or  without  cultivation,  to  fall  into  these  errors  ; 
and  all  experience  loudly  proclaims  that,  on  such  a  point, 
nature  alone  is  no  safe  guide.  Who,  that  has  arrived  at 
maturity  in  intellect,  taste,  and  feeling,  does  not  recollect 
how  hard  it  was  in  early  life  to  put  the  extinguisher  upon  a 
flaunting  metaphor  or  dazzling  expression,  —  to  reject  tinsel, 
however  worthless,  if  it  did  but  glitter ;  and  epithets,  how 
ever  superfluous,  if  they  but  sounded  grand  ?  How  hard 
it  was  to  forget  one's  self,  and  to  become  sincerely  intent 
upon  the  best,  simplest,  strongest,  briefest  mode  of  commu 
nicating  what  we  deemed  important  truth  to  the  minds  of 
others !  Surely,  then,  it  is  not  a  little  ridiculous,  when  so 
obvious  a  solution  offers  itself,  to  charge  the  faults  of  young 
speakers  upon  the  very  precepts  which  condemn  them.  It 
is  sufficient  to  vindicate  the  utility  of  such  precepts,  if  they 
tend  only  in  some  measure  to  correct  the  errors  they  cannot 
entirely  suppress,  and  to  abridge  the  duration  of  follies  which 
it  is  impossible  wholly  to  prevent. 

But  it  is  further  said,  that,  somehow  or  other,  any  such 
system  of  instruction  does  injury,  by  laying  upon  the  intellect 
a  sort  of  constraint,  and  substituting  a  stiff,  mechanical  move 
ment  for  the  flexibility  and  freedom  of  nature. 

The  reply  is,  that  if  the  system  of  instruction  be  too  mi 
nute,  or  if  the  pupil  be  told  to  employ  it  mechanically,  it 
may  easily  be  conceived  that  such  effects  will  follow,  but 
not  otherwise.  We  plead  for  no  system  of  minute  technical 
rules ;  still  less  for  the  formal  application  of  any  system 


238  SACRED    ELOQUENCE  ! 

whatever.  But  to  imbue  the  mind  with  great  general  princi 
ples,  leaving  them  to  operate  imperceptibly  upon  the  formation 
of  habit,  and  to  suggest,  without  distinct  consciousness  of  their 
presence,  the  lesson  which  each  occasion  demands,  is  a  very 
different  thing,  and  is  all  we  contend  for.  One  would  think, 
to  hear  some  men  talk,  that  it  was  proposed  to  instruct  a 
youth  to  adjust  beforehand  the  number  of  sentences  of  which 
each  paragraph  should  consist,  and  the  lengths  into  which 
the  sentences  should  be  cut,  —  to  determine  how  many  should 
be  perfect  periods,  and  how  many  should  not,  —  what  av 
erage  allowance  of  antitheses,  interrogatives,  and  notes  of 
admiration,  shall  be  given  to  each  page,  —  where  he  shall 
stick  on  a  metonymy  or  a  metaphor,  and  how  many  niches 
he  shall  reserve  for  gilded  ornaments.  Who  is  pleading  for 
any  such  nonsense  as  this  ?  All  that  is  contended  for  is, 
that  no  public  speaker  should  be  destitute  of  a  clear  percep 
tion  of  those  principles  of  man's  nature  on  which  conviction 
and  persuasion  depend  ;  and  of  those  proprieties  of  style 
which  ought  to  characterize  all  discourses  which  are  designed 
to  effect  these  objects.  General  as  all  this  knowledge  must 
be,  we  cannot  help  thinking  that  it  would  be  most  advanta 
geous.  One  great  good  it  would  undoubtedly  in  many  cases 
effect ;  —  it  would  prevent  men  from  setting  out  wrong,  or  at 
least  abridge  the  amount  or  duration  of  their  errors ;  —  in 
other  words,  prevent  the  formation  of  vicious  habits,  or  tend 
to  correct  them  when  formed.  Nothing  is  more  common 
than  for  a  speaker  to  set  out  with  false  notions  as  to  the  style 
which  effective  public  speaking  requires,  —  to  suppose  it 
something  very  remote  from  what  is  simple  and  natural. 
Still  more  are  led  into  similar  errors  by  their  vanity.  The 
young  especially  are  apt  to  despise  the  true  style  for  what 
are  its  chief  excellences,  —  its  simplicity  and  severity.  Let 
them  once  be  taught  its  great  superiority  to  every  other,  and 
they  will  at  least  be  protected  from  involuntary  errors,  and 
be  less  likely  to  yield  to  the  seductions  of  vanity.  Such  a 
knowledge  would  also  (perhaps  the  most  important  benefit  of 


THE    BRITISH    PULPIT.  239 

all)  involve  a  knowledge  of  the  best  models,  and  secure 
timely  appreciation  of  them. 

But  it  is  frequently  urged,  that,  after  all,  the  practical  value 
of  all  the  great  lessons  of  criticism  must  be  learned  from 
experience,  and  that  mere  instruction  can  do  little.  Be  it  so. 
Is  this  any  reason  why  that  little  should  be  withheld  ?  Be 
side.,  is  it  nothing  to  put  a  youth  in  the  right  way?  —  to 
abridge  the  lessons  of  experience  ?  —  to  facilitate  the  forma 
tion  of  good  habits,  and  to  prevent  the  growth  of  bad  ones  ? 
—  to  diminish  the  probabilities  of  failure,  and  to  increase 
those  of  success  ?  Is  there  any  reason  why  we  should  suffer 
the  young  speaker  to  grope  out  his  way  by  the  use  of  the 
lead-line  alone,  when  we  could  give  him  the  aid  of  the  chart 
and  compass  ;  or  to  find  his  way  to  truth  at  last  by  a  series 
of  painful  blunders,  when  any  part  of  the  trouble  or  the 
shame  might  be  spared  him  ?  Can  any  one  doubt  that  a 
great  speaker  may  be  able  to  give  a  novice  in  the  art  many 
profitable  hints,  which  would  save  him  both  much  time  and 
many  errors,  and  make  the  lessons  of  experience  not  only 
a  great  deal  shorter,  but  vastly  less  troublesome  ?  If  this 
be  so,  we  cannot  see  how  it  should  be  affirmed  that  instruc 
tions  founded  on  an  accurate  analysis  of  eloquence,  and 
compiled  and  digested  by  critics  like  Campbell  and  Whately, 
will  altogether  fail  of  producing  similar  benefits. 

Lastly ;  it  is  urged  that  such  instructions  are  of  very  little 
benefit,  because,  do  what  we  will,  we  cannot  make  great 
speakers ;  that  nature  has  the  exclusive  patent  for  the  manu 
facture  ;  that,  like  the  true  poet,  the  true  orator  is  "  born, 
not  made," — facts  which  we  fully  admit,  but  deny  to  be 
relevant.  The  argument  contains  a  twofold  fallacy.  First, 
it  is  not  true  that  even  those  to  whom  nature  has  imparted 
this  heaven-born  genius,  can  do  themselves  full  justice  with 
out  assiduous  cultivation,  or  afford  to  dispense  with  early 
instruction.  Certain  it  is,  that  none  of  them  have  ever 
thought  it  wise  to  venture  upon  such  a  display  of  independ 
ence.  Secondly,  if  it  were  ever  so  true  that  such  men 


240  SACRED   ELOQUENCE. 

could  do  without  instruction,  the  cases  are  so  few,  that  they 
would  in  no  wise  affect  the  general  question.  The  highest 
oratorical  genius  is  of  the  very  rarest  occurrence,  —  it  is  as 
rare  as  the  epic  or  dramatic,  if  not  more  so,  —  there  being 
but  two  or  three  tolerably  perfect  specimens  to  be  found  in 
the  whole  cabinet  of  history.  The  great  question  is,  how 
to  improve  to  the  utmost  the  talents  of  those  who  must  be 
public  speakers,  but  who  yet  have  no  pretensions  to  the  in 
spiration  of  genius  ;  —  on  whom,  in  truth,  no  one  ever  sus 
pects  that  the  mantle  either  of  Demosthenes  or  of  Cicero  has 
descended.  Nor  should  it  ever  be  forgotten,  (for  it  power 
fully  confirms  the  correctness  of  the  views  now  insisted 
upon,)  that,  though  the  constitution  of  mind  which  is  neces 
sary  for  the  highest  eloquence  is  very  seldom  to  be  met  with, 
there  is  no  faculty  whatever  which  admits  of  such  indefinite 
growth  and  development,  or  in  which  perseverance  and  dili 
gence  will  do  so  much,  as  that  of  public  speaking. 


THE  VANITY  AND  GLORY  OF  LITERATURE.* 


WHEN  a  man  has  once  resolved  upon  a  subject,  then,  "  for 
a  text,"  says  Sterne,  "  Cappadocia,  Pontus  arid  Asia,  Phrygia 
and  Pamphylia,  is  as  good  as  any  in  the  Bible."  With 
out  pretending  to  be  so  easily  satisfied  as  that  very  accom 
modating  divine,  we  shall  choose,  for  our  present  text,  the 
"  London  Catalogue  "  ;  nor  shall  we  be  without  grave  prece 
dents,  both  in  his  discourses  and  in  those  of  much  better  theo 
logians,  if  we  should  ultimately  allow  the  text  to  play  but  an 
insignificant  part  in  the  sermon. 

Our  readers  will  readily  surmise  that  it  is  not  our  intention 
to  criticize  this  curious  volume,  or  to  trouble  them  with  any 
specimens  of  its  contents.  But  though  we  have  little  to  say 
of  it,  it  has  a  great  deal  to  say  to  us ;  and,  in  truth,  there 
are  few  productions  of  the  press  more  suggestive  of  instruc 
tive  and  profitable  reflection.  Still,  as  it  only  conveys  wis 
dom  in  broken  and  stammering  accents,  we  must  endeavor, 
according  to  our  ability,  to  give  clearer  utterance  to  some  of 
the  lessons  it  teaches. 

This  closely  printed  book  contains  542  pages  ;  and,  after 
all,  comprises  a  catalogue  of  but  a  small  fraction  of  the  lit- 


*  "  Edinburgh  Eeview,"  April,  1849. 

The  London  Catalogue  of  Books  published  in  Great  Britain,  with  their 
Sizes,  Prices,  and  Publishers'  Names,  from  1814  to  1846.  London.  8vo. 
pp.  542. 

21 


242  THE    VANITY   AND   GLORY    OF    LITERATURE. 

erature  of  the  time  ;  in  fact,  only  the  titles  of  the  new  works, 
and  new  editions  of  old  works,  which  have  issued  from  the 
British  press  between  the  years  1814  and  1846  ;  and  not  all 
of  these.  To  this  prodigious  mass  each  day  is  adding  fresh 
accumulations  ;  and  it  is  impossible  not  to  speculate  a  little 
on  the  probable  consequences. 

Some  may  perhaps,  at  first,  be  inclined  to  predict  that 
mankind  will  in  time  be  oppressed  by  the  excess  of  their 
intellectual  wealth  ;  and  that,  operating  like  the  gold  of  Villa 
Rica,  (to  which  it  would  seem  that  we  might  soon  have  to 
add  that  of  California,)  the  superabundance  of  the  precious 
metal  may  lead  to  the  impoverishment  and  ruin  of  the  coun 
tries  so  equivocally  blest.  It  may  be  feared  that  a  superficial 
and  flimsy  knowledge,  gained  by  reading  a  very  little  on  an 
infinity  of  subjects,  without  prolonged  and  systematic  atten 
tion  to  any,  will  be  the  ultimate  result ;  and  such  knowledge, 
it  can  hardly  be  disputed,  will  be  in  effect  much  the  same  as 
ignorance.  Singular,  if  the  very  means  by  which  we  take 
security  against  a  second  invasion  of  barbarism,  should,  by 
its  excess  of  activity,  bring  about  a  condition  not  very  much 
better  !  "  A  mill  will  not  go,"  such  reasoners  will  say,  "  if 
there  be  no  water ;  but  it  will  be  as  effectually  stopped  if 
there  be  too  much."  In  brief,  it  may  seem  to  be  one  of 
those  cases,  if  ever  there  was  one,  in  which  old  Hesiod's 
paradoxical  maxim  applies,  that  "  the  half  is  more  than 
the  whole  "  ;  or,  for  that  matter,  a  much  smaller  fraction. 

And  this  dreaded  result  would  certainly  be  realized,  if  men 
were  to  attempt  to  make  their  studies  at  all  commensurate 
with  the  increase  of  books.  Compelled  to  read  something 
of  every  thing,  it  is  certain  they  would  know  nothing  of  any 
thing.  In  fact,  we  see  this  tendency  more  or  less  exemplified 
in  the  case  of  vast  numbers,  who,  without  definite  purpose  or 
selection  of  topics,  spend  such  time  as  they  can  give  to  the 
improvement  of  their  minds  and  the  acquisition  of  knowl 
edge,  in  little  else  than  the  casual  perusal  of  fragments  of  all 
sorts  of  books  ;  who  live  on  the  scraps  of  an  infinite  variety 


THE    VANITY    AND   GLORY    OF    LITERATURE.  243 

of  broken  meats  which  they  have  stuffed  into  their  beggar's 
wallet ;  scraps  which,  after  all,  only  just  keep  them  from  ab 
solute  starvation.  There  are  not  a  few  men  who  would  have 
been  learned,  if  not  wise,  had  the  paragraphs  and  pages  they 
have  actually  read,  been  on  well-defined  subjects,  and  mutu 
ally  connected  ;  but  who,  as  it  is,  possess  nothing  beyond 
fragments  of  uncertain,  inaccurate,  ill-remembered,  unsys- 
tematized  information,  and  at  the  best  are  entitled  only  to 
the  praise  of  being  very  artificially  and  elaborately  ignorant ; 
they  differ  from  the  utterly  uncultivated,  only  as  a  parrot 
who  talks  without  understanding  what  it  says,  differs  from  a 
parrot  who  cannot  talk  at  all. 

But  this  tendency,  though  it  must  attend  the  unlimited  in 
crease  of  books,  and  though  we  see  it  often  most  unhappily 
realized  in  individual  cases,  is,  for  the  most  part,  readily  cor 
rected.  The  majority  of  men  will,  as  heretofore,  only  read 
what  answers  their  purpose  on  the  particular  subjects  which 
necessity  or  inclination  prompts  them  to  cultivate  ;  while 
many  of  those  who  are  not  thus  protected  by  circumstances, 
will  be  as  effectually  secured  from  such  dangers  by  a  sound 
education.  That  must  be  our  safeguard  against  the  forma 
tion  of  the  pernicious  habit  of  desultory  reading  ;  —  and 
against  an  ambitious,  but  ill-judged  attempt  at  obtaining  en 
cyclopedic  knowledge.  This  last  ambition,  indeed,  is  but  a 
more  laborious  path  to  the  same  conclusion  ;  and  robs  the 
mind  at  once  both  of  that  mental  discipline  which  will  always 
follow  the  thorough  investigation  of  a  limited  class  of  sub 
jects,  and  of  that  really  accurate  knowledge  which  such  a 
limited  survey  alone  can  ever  securely  impart.  The  field  of 
knowledge  does  not  admit  of  universal  conquerors  ;  according 
to  the  happy  saying  of  Sydney  Smith,  if  science  is  their 
forte,  omniscience  is  their  foible. 

At  all  events,  one  thing  is  clear  :  to  guard  against  this  dan 
ger  will  demand,  as  time  rolls  on,  an  increasing  attention  to 
the  prime  object  of  all  education^ — the  formation  of  sound 
habits  of  mind,  —  the  discipline  of  the  faculties,  —  a  thing 


244  THE   VANITY   AND   GLORY    OF   LITERATURE. 

of  infinitely  more  consequence  than  the  mere  variety  of  the 
information  attained.  There  will  also  be  required  efforts, 
more  and  more  strenuous,  to  digest  and  systematize,  from 
time  to  time,  the  ever-growing  accumulations  of  literature  ; 
and  to  provide  the  best  possible  clews  through  this  immense 
and  bewildering  labyrinth,  or  rather  through  the  several  parts 
of  it ;  for  who  can  thread  the  whole  ? 

Nor  are  the  best  modes  of  pursuing  study  unworthy  of 
attention.  Indeed,  a  very  useful  book  (if  we  could  get  a 
Leibnitz  or  a  Gibbon  to  compose  it)  might  be  written  on  the 
"  art  of  reading  books  "  in  the  most  profitable  manner.  If 
students  had  patience  for  it,  we  are  convinced  that  a  much 
deeper  and- better  compacted  knowledge  (though  the  progress 
might  be  slower)  would  be  obtained  by  a  more  thorough  ad 
herence  to  the  maxim  so  warmly  approved  by  the  great  his 
torian  just  mentioned,  "  multum  legere,  potius  quam  multa," 
and  by  a  constant  habit  of  examining  the  scope  and  context 
of  the  authors  referred  to  on  any  important  points.  The 
knowledge  thus  acquired,  partly  from  the  trouble  it  gives, 
partly  from  the  many  associations  suggested  by  the  collation 
of  different  writers,  and  the  comparison  of  different  styles 
and  modes  of  thought,  nay,  even  by  the  different  forms  and 
type  of  the  books  themselves,  seldom  fails  to  be  firmly  im 
pressed  on  the  memory.  These  collateral  aids  are  like  re 
flectors,  which  increase  indefinitely  the  intensity  of  light, 
and  render  a  subject  luminous  which  would  otherwise  be  ob 
scure.  How  instructive  are  these  words  of  Gibbon,  —  himself 
a  conspicuous  example  of  what  even  a  postdiluvian  life  in 
dustriously  employed  may  accomplish  :  "  We  ought  to  attend 
not  so  much  to  the  order  of  our  books,  as  of  our  thoughts. 
The  perusal  of  a  particular  work  gives  birth  perhaps  to  ideas 
unconnected  with  the  subject  it  treats  ;  I  pursue  these  ideas, 
and  quit  my  proposed  plan  of  reading."  :  "I  sus- 

*  Extraits  Kaisonnees  de  mes  Lectures.  He  adds :  "  Si  j'avois  suivi 
mon  grand  chemin,  au  bout  de  ma  longue  carriere,  j'aurois  a  peine  pu 
retrouver  les  traces  de  mes  idees." 


THE  VANITY  AND  GLORY  OF  LITERATURE.      245 

pended  my  perusal  of  any  new  books  on  a  subject,  till  I  had 
reviewed  all  that  I  knew,  or  believed,  or  had  thought  on  it, 
that  I  might  be  qualified  to  discern  how  much  the  authors 
added  to  my  original  stock."  * 

Perpetual  access  to  a  large  library,  it  may  be  suspected,  is 
often  an  impediment  to  a  thorough  digestion  of  knowledge, 
by  tempting  to  an  unwise  indulgence.  There  is  a  story  of  a 
man  who  said  he  always  read  borrowed  books  with  double 
attention  as  well  as  profit,  because  he  could  not  hope  to  re 
new  his  acquaintance  with  them  at  pleasure  !  This  of  course 
presupposes  that  he  returned  the  books  he  borrowed,  —  an 
event  which,  we  fear,  does  not  always  happen. 

It  is  probable,  indeed,  that  a  comparatively  small  number 
of  well-selected  books,  —  even  when  our  own,  —  would,  gen 
erally,  be  likely  to  form  a  sounder  and  more  serviceable 
knowledge  than  the  unlimited  range  of  a  large  library.  Most 
readers  must  have  been  conscious  of  the  fastidious  mood  with 
which,  in  moments  of  leisure,  they  have  stood  before  a  goodly 
assortment  of  attractive  writers,  and  instead  of  making  a  sub 
stantial  repast,  as  they  would  have  done  with  less  to  distract 
their  choice,  have  humored  the  vagaries  of  a  delicate  appe 
tite,  —  toyed  with  this  rich  dainty  and  that,  —  and  after  all 
have  felt  like  a  schoolboy  who  has  dined  upon  tarts  ;  —  that 
they  have  spoiled  their  digestion  without  satisfying  their 
hunger ! 

But  without  stopping  any  longer  to  examine  this  paradox, 
—  whether  the  multiplication  of  books  is  to  produce  a  dimi 
nution  of  knowledge  or  not,  —  there  are  other  consequences 
of  the  prodigious  activity  of  the  modern  press  far  more  cer 
tain  to  arise,  and  which  well  deserve  a  little  consideration. 

One  of  the  most  obvious  of  these  consequences  will  be  the 
disappearance  from  the  world  of  that  always  rare  animal,  the 
so-called  "  universal  scholar."  Even  of  that  ill-defined  crea- 


*  Memoirs  ;  —  and  thought  worthy  of  being  twice  cited  by  Mr.  D'ls- 
raeli. 

21* 


246  THE    VANITY   AND   GLORY    OF   LITERATURE. 

ture  called  "a  well-informed  man"  and  "general  student," 
it  will  be  perpetually  harder  to  find  exemplars ;  but  assuredly 
the  Huets,  the  Scaligers,  the  Leibnitzes  must  become  as  ex 
tinct  as  the  ichthyosaurus  or  the  megatherium.  It  is  true  that, 
in  the  strict  sense  of  the  word,  such  a  creature  as  "  the 
universal  scholar"  does  not,  and  never  did,  exist.  But  there 
as  certainly  have  been  men  who  had  traversed  a  sufficiently 
large  segment  of  the  entire  circumference  of  existing  science 
and  literature,  to  render  the  name  something  more  than  a 
ridiculous  hyperbole.  It  is  commonly,  indeed,  and  truly,  said 
to  be  impossible  for  the  human  mind  to  prosecute  researches 
with  accuracy  in  all,  or  even  many  different  branches  of 
knowledge  ;  that  what  is  gained  in  surface  is  lost  in  depth  ; 
that  the  principle  of  the  "  division  of  labor"  strictly  applies 
here  as  in  arts  and  manufactures,  and  that  each  mind  must 
restrict  itself  to  a  very  few  limited  subjects,  if  any  are  to  be 
really  mastered.  All  this  is  most  true.  Yet  it  is  equally 
true,  that,  in  the  pursuit  of  knowledge,  the  principle  of  the 
"  division  of  labor  "finds  limits  to  its  application  much  sooner 
than  in  handicrafts.  The  voracious  "  helluo  librorum  "  is 
not  more  to  be  suspected  of  ill-digested  and  superficial  knowl 
edge,  than  he  whom  the  proverb  tells  us  to  avoid  (though  for 
a  very  different,  and,  as  we  suspect,  less  valid  reason),  the 
man  "  unius  libri."*  A  certain  amount  of  knowledge  of 
several  subjects,  often  of  many,  is  necessary  to  render  the 
knowledge  of  any  one  of  these  serviceable  ;  and,  without  it, 
the  most  minute  knowledge  of  any  one  alone  would  be  like 
half  a  pair  of  scissors,  or  a  hand  with  but  one  finger.  What 
is  that  amount  must  be  determined  by  the  circumstances  of 
the  individual,  and  the  object  for  which  he  wants  it ;  the  safe 
maximum  will  vary  in  different  cases. 

*  For  what  can  be  suggested  in  favor  of  the  "  Man  of  One  Book," 
the  reader  may  profitably  consult  the  observations  of  Mr.  D'Israeli  on 
that  subject  in  his  "  Curiosities  of  Literature."  There  is  truth  in  what 
he  says  ;  but  if  the  proverb  is  to  be  taken  at  all  literally,  we  are  con 
vinced  that  it  has  less  than  the  usual  average  of  proverbial  wisdom,  and 
that  the  "  man  of  one  book  "  will  prove  but  a  shallow  fellow. 


THE   VANITY   AND   GLORY   OF   LITERATURE.  247 

There  are  opposite  dangers.  The  knowledge  of  each  par 
ticular  thing  that  a  man  can  study  will  always  be  imperfect. 
The  most  "minute  philosopher"  cannot  pretend  perfection 
of  knowledge  even  in  his  little  domain  ;  and  if  it  were  per 
fect  to-day,  the  leakage  of  memory  would  make  it  imperfect 
by  to-morrow.  No  subject  can  be  named,  which  is  not  inex 
haustible  to  the  spirit  of  man.  Whether  he  looks  at  nature 
through  the  microscope  or  the  telescope,  he  sees  wonders  dis 
closed  on  either  side  which  extend  into  infinity,  —  the  in 
finitely  great  or  the  infinitely  little,  —  and  can  set  no  limits 
to  the  approximate  perfection  with  wrhich  he  may  study  them. 
It  is  the  same  also  with  languages  and  with  any  branch  of 
moral  or  metaphysical  science.  A  man  may,  if  he  will,  be 
all  his  life  long  employed  upon  a  single  language,  and  never 
absolutely  master  its  vocabulary,  much  less  its  idioms ;  like 
the  ancient,  after  many  years  of  solitary  application,  he  may 
unconsciously  proclaim  himself  a  foreigner  to  the  first  apple- 
woman  he  meets,  by  some  solecism  too  subtle  for  any  but 
a  native  ear  to  detect  it. 

The  limits,  then,  within  which  any  subject  is  to  be  pursued 
must  be  determined  by  utility ;  meantime,  it  is  certain  that 
one  cannot  be  profitably  pursued  alone.  Such,  it  has  been 
well  observed,  is  the  strict  connection  and  interdependence  of 
all  branches  of  science,  that  the  best  way  of  obtaining  a  use 
ful  knowledge  of  one  is  to  combine  it  with  more.  The  true 
limit  between  too  minute  and  too  wide  a  survey  may  be  often 
difficult  to  find  ;  nevertheless,  such  a  limit  always  exists  ;  and 
he  who  should  pause  over  any  one  subject,  however  minute, 
till  he  had  absolutely  mastered  it,  would  be  as  far  from  that 
limit  with  regard  to  all  the  practical  ends  of  knowledge,  as  if 
he  had  suffered  his  mind  to  dissipate  itself  in  a  vague  at 
tempt  at  encyclopedic  attainments.  The  statement  of  Mac- 
laurin  on  this  point,  expressed  in  a  characteristically  mathe 
matical  form,  is  well  worthy  of  attention.  "  Our  knowledge," 
says  he,  "  is  vastly  greater  than  the  sum  of  what  all  its  ob 
jects  separately  could  afford  :  and  when  a  new  object  comes 


248  THE    VANITY    AND   GLORY    OF    LITERATURE. 

within  our  reach,  the  addition  to  our  knowledge  is  the  greater, 
the  more  we  already  know  ;  so  that  it  increases,  not  as  the 
new  objects  increase,  but  in  a  much  higher  proportion.* 

At  all  events,  it  ill  becomes  us  to  speak  disparagingly  of 
the  various,  and,  for  all  practical  purposes,  solid,  attainments 
of  superior  intellects.  There  is  a  piece  of  self-flattery  by 
which  little  minds  often  try  to  reduce  great  minds  to  their 
own  level.  u  True,"  it  is  said,  "  such  men  have  very  va 
rious  knowledge,  but  it  is  all  superficial  ;  they  have  not  sur 
rendered  themselves  to  any  one  branch  sufficiently  "  ;  and  all 
this,  perhaps,  because  they  have  not  cultivated  with  the  most 
elaborate  industry  every  little  corner  of  it,  and  because  they 
have  had  some  conception  of  the  relative  value  of  the  parts 
of  a  large  subject !  The  minute  antiquary  (if  he  be  nothing 
more)  talks  in  this  style  if  he  finds  you  ignorant  of  the  shape 
of  an  old  buckle  of  such  a  date  !  —  "You  know  nothing  of  an 
tiquities."  The  minute  geographer,  if  he  discovers  that  you 
have  never  heard  of  some  obscure  town  at  the  antipodes,  will 
tell  you,  you  know  nothing  of  geography.  The  minute  his 
torian,  if  he  finds  that  you  never  knew,  or  perhaps  have 
known  twenty  times,  and  never  cared  to  remember,  some 
event  utterly  insignificant  to  all  real  or  imaginable  purposes 
of  history,  will  tell  you  that  you  know  nothing  of  history. 
And  yet,  discerning  the  limits  within  which  the  several 
branches  of  knowledge  should  be  pursued,  you  may,  after 
all,  for  every  important  object,  have  attained  a  more  service 
able  and  prompt  command  over  those  very  branches  in  which 
your  complacent  censor  flatters  himself  that  he  excels. 

But  to  return  to  the  prospects  of  the  so-called  "  universal 
scholar."  There  have  been  in  every  age  men  who,  gifted 
with  gigantic  powers,  prodigious  memory,  and  peculiar  modes 
of  arranging  and  retaining  knowledge,  have  aspired  to  a  com 
prehensive  acquaintance  with  all  the  chief  productions  of  the 
human  intellect  in  all  time  ;  who  have  made  extensive  incur- 

*  Maclaurin's  Account  of  Newton's  Discoveries,  p.  392. 


THE   VANITY    AND   GLORY    OF    LITERATURE.  249 

sions  into  every  branch  of  human  learning ;  and  whose 
knowledge  has  borne  something  like  an  appreciable  ratio  to 
the  sum  total  of  literature  and  .science  ;  who,  as  Fontenelle 
expressively  says  of  Leibnitz,  have  managed  "  to  drive  all 
the  sciences  abreast."  Such  minds  have  always  been  rare  ; 
but,  as  we  just  now  observed,  they  must  soon  become  extinct. 
For  what  is  to  become  of  them  in  after  ages,  as  the  domain 
of  human  knowledge  indefinitely  widens,  and  the  creations  of 
human  genius  indefinitely  multiply?  Not  that  there  will  not 
be  men  who  will  then  know  absolutely  more,  and  with  far 
greater  accuracy,  than  their  less,  favored  predecessors;  never 
theless,  their  knowledge  must  bear  a  continually  diminishing 
ratio  to  the  sum  of  human  science  and  literature ;  they  must 
traverse  a  smaller  and  smaller  segment  of  the  ever-dilating 
circle  !  *  Nay,  it  may  well  be,  that  the  accumulations  of 
even  one  science  (chemistry  or  astronomy  for  instance)  may 
be  too  vast  for  one  brief  life  to  master.  Or,  since  that 
thought  is  really  too  immense  to  be  other  than  vague,  let  us 
confine  ourselves  to  some  very  slender  additions  to  the  task  of 
the  future  "  universal  scholar,"  imposed  during  the  last  few 
years.  Let  us  think  only  of  some  few  of  those  voluminous 

*  "  In  Germany  alone,"  says  Menzel,  "  according  to  a  moderate  cal 
culation,  ten  millions  (?)  of  volumes  are  annually  printed.  As  the  cata 
logue  of  every  Leipzig  half-yearly  book  contains  the  names  of  more  than 
a  thousand  German  authors,  we  may  compute  that  at  the  present  mo 
ment  there  are  living  in  Germany  about  fifty  thousand  men  who  have  writ 
ten  one  or  more  books.  Should  that  number  increase  at  the  same  rate  that 
it  has  hitherto  done,  the  time  will  soon  come  when  a  catalogue  of  ancient 
and  modern  German  authors  will  contain  more  names  than  there  are  living 

readers In  the  year  1816  there  were  published  for  the  first  time 

more  than  three  thousand  books  ;  in  1822,  for  the  first  time,  above  four 
thousand  ;  in  1827,  for  the  first  time,  above  five  thousand;  and  in  1832, 
for  the  first  time,  above  six  thousand ;  the  numbers  thus  increasing  one 
thousand  every  five  years."  —  Gordon's  Translation  of  MenzeTs  German 
Literature.  The  translator  adds,  from  the  "  Conversations-Lexicon,"  the 
numbers  published  annually  to  1837,  in  which  year  they  were  nearly 
eight  thousand.  The  literary  activity  of  France  and  England,  though 
not  so  great,  has  been  prodigious. 


250  THE    VANITY    AND    GLORY    OF    LITERATURE. 

authors  who  have  appeared,  in  our  own  country  alone ,  and  in 
the  single  department  of  history  and  polite  letters,  within  the 
last  century,  or  even  within  two  generations,  and  with  whom 
not  only  all  who  pretend  to  profound  scholarship,  but  all 
"  well-informed  men,"  are  presumed  to  have  some  acquaint 
ance  ;  —  to  say  nothing  of  living  writers  and  the  vast  mass  of 
excellent  literature  which  they  are  every  year  pouring  into 
the  world.  Let  us  think  only  of  the  voluminous  remains 
of  Johnson,  Burke,  Gibbon,  Hume,  Robertson,  Goldsmith, 
Cowper,  Crabbe,  Byron,  Walter  Scott  (with  his  hundred 
volumes),  and  some  scores  pf  other  great  names.  Now  as 
human  life,  it  has  been  justly  said,  remains  brief  as  ever, 
while  the  task  of  the  student  is  daily  enlarging,  there  is  no 
alternative  but  that  the  "  general  scholar  "  of  each  succeed 
ing  age  must  be  content  with  possessing  a  less  and  less  frac 
tion  of  the  entire  products  of  the  human  mind.  "  Happy 
men,"  we  are  half  inclined  ungratefully  to  say,  "  who  lived 
when  a  library  consisted,  like  that  of  a  mediaeval  monastery, 
of  some  thirty  or  forty  volumes,  and  who  thought  they  knew 
every  thing  when  they  had  read  these !  Happy  our  fathers, 
who  were  not  tormented  with  the  sight  of  unnumbered  crea 
tions  of  genius,  which  we  must  sigh  to  think  we  can  never 
make  our  own  !  " 

The  final  disposal  of  all  this  mass  of  literature  is  with  some 
easily  managed.  The  bad  will  perish,  it  is  said,  and  the 
good  remain.  The  former  statement  is  true  enough  ;  the 
latter  not  so  clear.  "  Bad  books,"  says  Menzel,  "  have  their 
season  just  as  vermin  have.  They  come  in  swarms,  and 

perish  before  we  are  aware How  many  thousand 

books  have  gone  the  way  of  all  paper,  or  are  now  moulder 
ing  in  our  libraries  ?  Many  of  our  books,  however,  will  not 
last  even  so  long,  for  the  paper  itself  is  as  bad  as  its  contents." 
All  this  may  be  true ;  but  we  cannot  disguise  from  ourselves, 
that  not  the  bad  writer  alone  is  forgotten.  It  is  but  too  evi 
dent  that  immense  treasures  of  thought,  —  of  beautiful  po 
etry,  vivacious  wit,  ingenious  argument,  —  which  men  would 


THE  VANITY  AND  GLORY  OF  LITERATURE.      251 

not  suffer  to  die  if  they  could  help  it,  must  perish  too ;  the 
great  spoiler  here  acts  with  his  accustomed  impartiality, — 

"JEquo  pulsat  pede  pauperum  tabernas 
Regumque  turres." 

For  the  truth  is,  that  the  creations  of  the  human  mind 
transcend  its  capacity  to  collect  and  preserve  them  ;  like  the 
seeds  of  life  in  the  vegetable  world,  the  intellectual  powers  of 
man  are  so  prolific  that  they  run  to  waste.  Some  readers, 
perhaps,  as  a  bright  company  of  splendid  names  rushes  on 
their  recollection,  may  be  disposed  to  say  "  A  vaunt !  "  to  these 
melancholy  forebodings.  Surely,  it  can  be  only  necessary 
to  remind  them  of  the  votive  tablets  in  the  Temple  of  Nep 
tune  recording  escape  from  shipwreck.  How  many  men 
have  suffered  shipwreck,  and  whose  tablets,  therefore,  are  not 
to  be  found !  Others  may  think  it  impossible  that  great  writ 
ers,  with  whom  their  own  generation  has  been  so  familiar, 
and  who  occupy  such  a  space  in  its  eye,  can  ever  dwindle 
into  insignificance.  The  illusion  vanishes  the  moment  we 
take  them  to  catalogues  and  indexes,  and  show  them  names  of 
authors  who  once  made  as  loud  a  noise  in  the  world,  of  whom 
they  never  read  a  line. .  We  should  be  too  happy  to  believe 
the  statement  of  Menzel  correct :  "  Of  three  good  authors, 
one  at  least  will  be  remembered  by  posterity  ;  while  of  a 
hundred  bad  ones,  who  are  distinguished  at  present,  not  above 
one  will  hand  down  his  evil  example."  * 

It  is  with  no  cynical,  but  with  simply  mournful  feelings, 
that  we  thus  dwell  on  the  mortality  of  the  productions  even 
of  genius.  We  would  be  just,  both  to  the  living  and  the 
dead,  by  admitting  that  thousands  of  the  latter  who  are  for- 

*  "  Die  Gegenwart  duldet  keinen  Richter,  aber  die  Vergangenheit  fin- 
det  immer  den  gerechtesten."  —  Menzel,  Th.  I.  s.  95.  But  our  author 
forgets  that  it  is  possible  for  the  courts  of  criticism,  like  those  of  law,  to 
be  overdone  with  business ;  that  the  list  may  contain  more  causes  than 
industry  and  skill  can  get  through,  except  by  a  process  which  leaves 
justice  out  of  the  question,  and  dares  to  decide  without  a  hearing. 


252 


THE  VANITY  AND  GLORY  OF  LITERATURE. 


gotten,  deserved  to  be  remembered,  and  that  the  former 
would  remember  them  if  they  could.  Most  pleasant  it  would 
be,  no  doubt,  in  case  human  life  were  prolonged  in  some 
proportion  with  the  augmented  sum  of  human  knowledge, 
to  lay  out  our  studies  on  a  corresponding  scale.  Possessed 
of  antediluvian  longevity,  we  might  devote  some  twenty 
years  or  so  (a  year  or  two  more  or  less  would  be  of  no  con 
sequence)  to  purely  elementary  studies  and  discipline  ;  the 
"  promising  lad  "  of  fifty  might  commence  his  more  serious 
school  studies,  under  judicious  masters,  in  their  full  vigor  and 
prime  of  three  or  four  centuries  ;  and  at  the  age  of  ninety 
or  a  hundred,  the  young  student,  just  entering  upon  life 
(though  as  yet  raw  and  inexperienced),  might  be  supposed 
to  have  laid  a  tolerably  solid  foundation,  whereon,  in  the 
course  of  his  progress  towards  manhood  through  the  next 
two  centuries,  he  might,  by  due  diligence  and  perseverance, 
build  such  a  superstructure  as  should  justify  some  preten 
sions  to  accurate  and  sound  scholarship.  But,  alas  !  we  for 
get  that,  even  then,  the  old  obstructions  to  universal  knowl 
edge  would  soon  be  reproduced  in  a  new' form.  The  same 
insatiable  curiosity  and  the  same  restless  activity,  operating 
through  longer  periods,  would  rapidly  extend  the  circle  of 
science  and  literature  beyond  the  reach  of  even  such  a  stu 
dent.  The  tremendous  authors  who  enjoyed  a  career  of  five 
centuries  of  popularity,  would  be  voluminous  in  proportion  ; 
Jeremy  Taylor  and  Baxter,  Voltaire  and  Walter  Scott,  would 
appear  but  pamphleteers  in  comparison.  Their  "  opera 
omnia  "  would  extend  to  libraries.  Novels  would  be  written 
to  which  the  Great  Cyrus  and  Clelia  would  be  mere  novel- 
lettes  ;  wherein  the  heroes  and  heroines  would  be  married, 
hanged,  or  drowned,  after  a  courtship  and  adventures  of  two 
or  three  centuries.  The  biographies  of  the  long-lived  wor 
thies  of  such  an  age  would  be  composed  in  forty  folios,  or 
more  ;  and  the  history  of  nations  projected  on  a  scale  which 
would  render  De  Thou's  huge  seven  tomes  a  mere  sketch  or 
abstract.  The  author  who  began  the  history  of  Athens  by  a 


THE   VANITY   AND   GLORY   OF    LITERATURE.  253 

dissertation  on  the  geological  formation  of  the  Acropolis,  or 
the  work  of  Leibnitz  on  the  House  of  Brunswick,  in  which 
he  commences  with  his  "  Protogsea,"  would  be  but  a  type  of 
the  prodigious  gyrations  of  such  writers  ;  so  that  the  hope 
less  student,  "  toiling  after  them  in  vain,"  would  be  obliged 
to  exclaim,  with  Voltaire's  "  little  man  of  Saturn,"  who  only 
lived  during  five  hundred  revolutions  (or  fifteen  thousand 
of  our  years),  that  scarcely  had  he  begun  to  pick  up  a  little 
knowledge,  when  he  was  summoned  to  depart ;  and  that  to 
live  only  for  such  a  span  is,  as  one  may  say,  to  die  as  soon 
as  one  is  born. 

But  let  us  not  be  dismayed.  The  difference  in  the  position 
of  the  "  general  scholar  "  of  earlier,  as  compared  with  one  of 
later  times,  is  not  so  vast  as  might  at  first  be  imagined.  Even 
the  former,  with  all  his  advantages,  had  far  more  books  before 
him  than  he  could  digest.  We  have  but  to  look  at  the  index 
of  their  collected  works,  and  to  mark  the  limited  class  of 
authors  with  whom  they  were  familiar,  to  be  convinced  that 
each,  after  all,  had  travelled  over  but  a  small  portion  of  the 
entire  ground.  We  have  stated,  that  of  the  literature  which 
chiefly  occupies  each  generation,  the  bulk,  even  of  its  treas 
ures,  perishes ;  and  as  time  makes  fresh  accumulations,  those 
of  preceding  ages' pass  for  the  most  part  into  quiet  oblivion. 
The  process  which  has  taken  effect  on  the  past  will  be  re 
peated  on  the  present  age  and  on  every  subsequent  one  ;  so 
that  the  period  will  assuredly  come,  when  even  the  great 
writers  of  our  days,  who  seem  to  have  such  enduring  claims 
upon  our  gratitude  and  admiration,  will  be  as  little  remem 
bered  as  others  of  equal  genius  who  have  gone  before  them ; 
when,  if  not  wholly  forgotten  or  superseded,  they  will  exist 
only  in  fragments  or  specimens,  —  these  fragments  and 
specimens  themselves  shrinking  into  narrower  compass  as 
time  advances.  In  this  way  Time  is  perpetually  compiling 
a  vast  index  expurgatorius  ;  and  though  the  press  more  than 
repairs  his  ravages  on  the  mere  matter  of  books,  the  immense 
masses  he  heaps  up  insure  the  purpose  of  oblivion  just  as 

22 


254      THE  VANITY  AND  GLORY  OP  LITERATURE. 

effectually.  Not  that  his  contemporary  waste  has  ceased,  or 
become  very  moderate.  Probably  scarcely  a  day  now  passes 
but  sees  the  last  leaf,  the  last  tattered  remnant  of  the  last 
copy  of  some  work  (great  or  small)  of  some  author  or  oth 
er  perish  by  violence  or  accident,  —  by  fire,  flood,  or  the 
crumbling  of  mere  decay.  It  is  surely  an  impressive 
thought,  —  this  silent,  unnoticed  extinction  of  another  product 
of  some  once  busy  and  aspiring  mind  ! 

Paradoxical  as  it  may  seem,  the  chief  cause  of  the  virtual 
oblivion  of  books  is  no  longer  their  extinction,  but  the  fond 
care  with  which  they  are  preserved,  and  their  immensely 
rapid  multiplication.  The  press  is  more  than  a  match  for 
the  moth  and  the  worm,  or  the  mouldering  hand  of  time  ; 
yet  the  great  destroyer  equally  fulfils  his  commission,  by 
burying  books  under  the  pyramid  which  is  formed  by  their 
accumulation.  It  is  a  striking  example  of  the  impotence 
with  which  man  struggles  against  the  destiny  which  awaits 
him  and  his  works,  that  the  very  means  he  takes  to  insure 
immortality,  destroy  it ;  that  the  very  activity  of  the  press, 
of  the  instrument  by  which  he  seemed  to  have  taken 
pledges  against  time  and  fortune,  is  that  which  will  make 
him  the  spoil  of  both.  The  books  themselves  may  no  longer 
die  ;  but  their  spirit  does  :  and  they  become  like  old  men 
whose  bodies  have  outlived  their  minds,  —  a  spectacle  more 
piteous  than  death  *itself.  It  is  really  curious  to  look  into  the 
index  of  such  learned  writers  as  Jeremy  Taylor,  Cud  worth, 
or  Leibnitz,  and  to  see  the  havoc  which  has  been  made  on 
the  memory  of  the  greater  part  of  the  writers  they  cite,  and 
who  still  exist,  though  no  longer  to  be  cited  ;  of  men  who 
were  their  great  contemporaries  or  immediate  predecessors, 
and  who  are  quoted  by  them  just  as  Locke  or  Burke  is  quoted 
by  us.  Of  scarcely  one  in  ten  of  these  grave  authorities 
has  the  best-informed  student  of  our  day  read  ten  pages. 
The  very  names  of  vast  numbers  have  all  but  perished  ; 
at  all  events,  have  died  out  of  familiar  remembrance.  Let 
the  student  who  flatters  himself  that  he  is  not  ill-informed, 


THE   VANITY   AND   GLORY   OF   LITERATURE.  255 

glance  over  the  index  of  even  such  a  work  as  Hallam's 
"  History  of  European  Literature,"  —  designed  only  to  re 
cord  the  more  memorable  names,  —  and  ask  himself  of  how 
many  of  the  authors  there  mentioned  he  has  read  so  much 
as  even  five  pages  ?  It  will  be  enough  to  chastise  all  ordi 
nary  conceit  of  extensive  attainments,  and,  perhaps  as  effec 
tually  as  any  thing,  teach  a  man  that  truest  kind  of  knowl 
edge,  —  the  knowledge  of  his  own  ignorance. 

But  while  thus  administering  consolation  to  the  "  general 
scholar,"  by  showing  that  time  has  been  certainly  limiting  as 
well  as  extending  his  task,  there  is  another  class  who  will 
find  no  consolation  in  the  thought,  —  and  that  is  the  class  of 
authors.  There  is  no  help,  however :  humbling  as  it  may 
seem,  to  represent  the  noble  products  of  man's  mind  as  des 
tined  to  decay,  like  his  body,  —  and  the  thoughts  and  inter 
ests  which  he  knows  must  perish  with  it,  —  it  is  the  truth, 
nevertheless,  in  the  vast  majority  of  instances.  And  in  by 
far  the  greater  number  of  the  seeming  instances  to  the  con 
trary,  authors  still  do  not  live ;  they  are  merely  embalmed, 
and  made  mummies  of.  The  works  of  the  great  mass  of 
extant  authors  are  deposited  in  libraries  and  museums,  like 
the  bodies  of  Egyptian  kings  in  their  pyramids,  —  retaining 
only  a  grim  semblance  of  life,  amidst  neglect,  darkness,  and 
decay. 

To  Mr.  D'Israeli's  enthusiastic  gaze,  the  sight  of  the  rows 
of  goodly  volumes  in  their  rich  bindings,  gleaming  behind 
the  glittering  trellis-work  of  their  carved  cases,  suggested  the 
idea  of  "  Eastern  beauties  peering  through  their  jalousies  "  / 
To  the  eye  of  a  severe  philosopher,  they  might  more  natu 
rally  suggest  the  idea  of  the  aforesaid  mummies. 

It  has  been  often  affirmed,  —  and  there  is  some  truth  in  it, 
—  that,  of  all  the  forms  of  celebrity  which  promise  to  grat 
ify  man's  natural  longing  for  immortality,  there  is  none  which 
looks  so  plausible  as  that  of  literary  glory.  The  great  states 
man  and  warrior,  it  is  said,  are  known  only  by  report,  and 
for  even  that  are  indebted  to  the  poet  and  historian.  Sir 


256  THE   VANITY   AND   GLORY   OF   LITERATURE. 

Walter  Scott  (a  man  by  no  means  disposed  to  over-estimate 
the  importance  of  a  literary  as  compared  with  a  practical 
life),  after  looking  at  certain  drawings  of  some  splendid 
architectural  monuments  of  ancient  India,  the  names  of 
whose  founders  have  perished,  justly  remarks  in  his  diary, 
"  Fame  depends  on  literature,  not  on  architecture."  But 
even  where  a  Pindar  or  a  Tacitus  undertakes  the  task  of 
celebrating  munificence  or  greatness,  we  are  compelled  to 
feel,  that,  after  all,  it  is  but  the  conqueror's  or  statesman's 
portrait,  rather  than  the  conqueror  or  statesman  himself,  that 
is  presented  to  us.  On  the  other  hand,  a  book  is  fondly 
presumed  to  be  an  author's  second  self;  by  it  he  comes  as 
it  were  into  contact,  into  personal  communion,  with  the 
minds  of  his  readers.  It  is  a  pleasant  illusion,  no  doubt ; 
and  in  the  \eryfew  instances  in  which  the  author  does  attain 
this  permanent  popularity,  and  becomes  a  "  household  word  " 
with  posterity,  the  illusion  ceases  to  be  such,  and  the  hopes 
of  ambition  are  indeed  splendidly  realized.  But  it  is  not 
only  most  true  that  very  few  can  attain  this  eminence  ;  it  has 
not  been  sufficiently  observed,  that,  as  the  world  grows  older, 
a  still  smaller  and  smaller  portion  of  those  who  seem  to  have 
attained  it  will  retain  their  position.  A  minute  fraction  of 
even  these  will  be  consigned  to  the  future,  and  fractions  even 
of  these  fractions  will  gradually  drop  away  in  the  long  march 
of  time.  The  great  mass  of  the  writers  whom  "  posterity 
would  not  willingly  let  die,"  if  there  were  possibility  of  es 
cape,  must  share  the  fate  of  those  other  great  men  over 
whom  the  author  is  supposed  to  have  an  advantage  ;  they 
themselves  will  live  only  by  the  historian's  pen.  The  empty 
titles  of  their  books  will  be  recorded  in  catalogues  ;  and  a 
few  lines  be  granted  to  them  in  biographical  dictionaries,  — 
with  what  may  be  truly  called  a  post  mortem  examination  of 
criticism  ;  a  space  which,  as  those  churchyards  of  intellect 
become  more  and  more  crowded,  will  necessarily  also  be 
come  smaller  and  smaller,  till,  for  thousands,  not  even  room 
for  a  sepulchral  stone  will  be  found. 


THE    VANITY   AND   GLORY   OF    LITERATURE.  257 

Nor  is  it  easy  to  say  how  far  this  oblivion  will  go,  or  what 
luminaries  will  be  in  time  eclipsed.  Supposing  only  a  scant 
ling  of  the  products  of  the  genius  of  each  age  —  its  richest 
and  ripest  fruits  —  handed  down  to  posterity,  (and  there  is 
already  gathered  into  the  garner  far  more  than  any  one  man 
has  read  or  can  read,)  the  accumulation  of  these  scantlings 
will  gradually  rise  into  a  prodigious  pile.  The  time  must 
come,  when  not  only  mediocrity,  which  has  been  always  the 
case,  not  only  excellence,  which  has  been  long  the  case, 
will  stand  a  chance  of  being  rejected,  but  when  even  gold 
and  diamonds  will  be  cast  into  the  sieve  !  Hardy  must  those 
be  who  shall  then  venture  to  hope  for  the  permanent  atten 
tion  of  mankind  !  for  it  will  be  found  that  the  greater  part 
of  authors  have  bought,  not,  as  they  fondly  imagined,  a  copy 
hold  of  inheritance.  Their  interest  for  life  or  years  soon 
runs  out,  and  every  year  rapidly  diminishes  the  value  of  the 
estate. 

We  already  see  this  mournfully  realized  in  relation  to  a 
thousand  bright  names  of  the  last  two  centuries.  How  much 
beautiful  poetry,  scarcely  second  in  merit  to  any,  is  all  but 
forgotten  in  the  crowd,  and  reduced  to  a  single  fragment  or 
two  in  some  book  of  specimens  or  "elegant  extracts"; 
hardly  more  than  sufficient  to  serve  for  an  epitaph !  A  fu 
ture,  however,  is  approaching,  when  even  volumes  of  speci 
mens  (to  be  complete)  must  be  in  folios,  and  the  very  ab 
stracts  of  excellence  voluminous  ;  or  rather,  when,  if  men 
would  read  only  one  page  of  each  great  genius,  they  must 
be  content  to  construct  a  spicilegium  something  like  that  of 
the  desultory  student  mentioned  by  Steele  in  one  of  the  Guar 
dians  ;  who  had  such  an  inordinate  habit  of  skipping  from 
book  to  book,  that,  to  gratify  this  taste,  he  fabricated  a  vol 
ume  in  which  each  page  was  from  a  different  author,  torn 
out  at  random,  and  bound  up  together. 

With  the  exception,  then,  of  the  very  few  who  shine  on 
from  age  to  age,  like  lights  in  the  firmament,  with  undimin- 
ished  lustre,  —  the  Homers,  the  Shakspeares,  the  Miltons,  the 

22* 


258  THE   VANITY   AND   GLORY   OF   LITERATURE. 

Bacons,  enshrined,  like  the  heroes  of  old,  among  the  con 
stellations,  —  the  great  bulk  of  writers  must  be  contented, 
after  having  shone  for  a  while,  to  be  wholly  or  nearly  lost  to 
the  world.  Entering  our  system  like  comets  which  move 
in  hyperbolic  orbits,  they  may  strike  their  immediate  gener 
ation  with  a  sudden  splendor  ;  but  receding  gradually  into 
the  depths  of  space,  they  will  twinkle  with  a  fainter  and  a 
fainter  lustre,  till  they  fade  away  for  ever. 

Not  the  least  instructive  of  the  essays  of  Lord  Jeffrey,  re 
printed  from  the  "  Edinburgh  Review,"  is  that  suggested  by 
Campbell's  "Specimens  of  the  British  Poets."  After  re 
marking  that  many  authors  of  no  trivial  popularity  in  their 
day,  occupy  the  smallest  possible  amount  of  space  in  such  a 
collection,  he  proceeds  most  strikingly,  but  sadly,  to  predict 
the  possible  condition  of  famous  contemporaries  a  century 
hence.  "  Of  near  two  hundred  and  fifty  authors  whose  works 
are  cited  in  these  volumes,  by  far  the  greater  part  of  whom 
were  celebrated  in  their  generation,  there  are  not  thirty  who 
now  enjoy  any  thing  that  can  be  called  popularity, —  whose 
works  are  to  be  found  in  the  hands  of  ordinary  readers,  — 
in  the  shops  of  ordinary  booksellers,  —  or  in  the  press  for  re- 
publication.  About  fifty  more  may  be  tolerably  familiar  to 
men  of  taste  or  literature  :  the  rest  slumber  on  the  shelves  of 
collectors,  and  are  partially  known  to  a  few  antiquarians  and 

scholars." "  The  last  ten  years  have  produced, 

we  think,  an  annual  supply  of  about  ten  thousand  lines  of 
good  staple  poetry,  —  poetry  from  the  very  first  hands  that 
we  can  boast  of,  —  that  runs  quickly  to  three  or  four  large 
editions,  and  is  as  likely  to  be  permanent  as  present  suc 
cess  can  make  it.  Now,  if  this  goes  on  for  a  hundred  years 
longer,  what  a  task  will  await  the  poetical  readers  of  1919  ! 

Then,  —  if  the  future  editor   have  any  thing  like 

the  indulgence  and  veneration  for  antiquity  of  his  predeces 
sors,  —  then  shall  posterity  hang  with  rapture  on  the  half  of 
Campbell,  and  the  fourth  part  of  Byron,  and  the  sixth  of 
Scott,  and  the  scattered  tithes  of  Crabbe,  and  the  three 


THE   VANITY   AND   GLORY   OF    LITERATURE.  259 

per  cents  of  Southey,  —  while  some  good-natured  critic  shall 
sit  in  our  mouldering  chair,  and  more  than  half  prefer  them 
to  those  by  whom  they  have  been  superseded !  "  Thus  does 
the  fame  which  looks  most  like  immortality,  resemble  every 
other  form  of  that  painted  shadow ;  in  most  instances  it  dwin 
dles  into  a  name  ;  and  that  name  not  always  legible.  "  Van 
ity  of  vanities,  saith  the  preacher ;  all  is  vanity  !  "  * 

In  one  point  we  can  hardly  concur  with  Lord  Jeffrey.  He 
seems  to  think  that  the  lot  of  the  poet,  in  relation  to  fame,  is 
yet  more  infelicitous  than  that  of  the  man  of  science.  He  says  : 
"  The  fame  of  a  poet  is  popular  or  nothing.  He  does  not 
address  himself,  like  the  man  of  science,  to  the  learned,  or 
those  who  desire  to  learn,  but  to  all  mankind  ;  and  his  pur 
pose  being  to  delight  and  be  praised,  necessarily  extends  to 
all  who  can  receive  pleasure  or  join  in  applause."  Now  we 
think  it  certain,  that  if  the  poet  and  the  man  of  science  are 
relatively  of  equal  merit,  the  chances  of  being  remembered 
are  far  more  favorable  to  the  former  than  to  the  latter.  As 
we  had  occasion  to  remark  some  time  back,  in  a  case  of  no 
less  a  genius  than  Leibnitz :  "  The  condition  of  great  phi 
losophers  is  far  less  enviable  than  that  of  great  poets.  The 
former  can  never  possess  so  large  a  circle  of  readers  under 
any  circumstances  ;  but  that  number  is  still  further  abridged 
by  the  fact,  that  even  the  truths  the  philosopher  has  taught 
or  discovered  form  but  stepping-stones  in  the  progress  of  sci 
ence,  and  are  afterwards  digested,  systematized,  and  better 
expounded  in  other  works  composed  by  inferior  men.  The 

*  After  penning  the  above  words,  we  were  reminded  of  another  of 
the  maxims  of  the  same  inspired  writer,  that  there  is  "  nothing  new 
under  the  sun  "  ;  for,  in  turning  over  old  Morhof 's  "  Polyhistor  "  for 
another  purpose,  we  stumbled  on  the  following  sentence :  —  "  Scriben- 
dorum  librorum  nullum  esse  finem  jam  turn  sapientissimus  Salomon 
dicebat ;  ac  est  revera  res  infinita ;  ut  enim  cogitationibus  hominum 
nullus  statui  finis  potest,  ita  nee  libris,  qui  cogitationum  partus  sunt ; 
quibus  kctores  tandem  deerunt  !  redeuntibus  semper  txovis  qui  ad  tem- 
poris  sui  genium  accommodatiores  sunt,  et  antiquorum  luminibus 
officiunt." 


260  THE   VANITY  AND   GLORY   OF   LITERATURE. 

creations  of  poetry,  on  the  contrary,  remain  ever  beautiful, 
as  long  as  the  language  in  which  they  are  embodied  shall 
endure  :  even  to  translate  is  to  injure  them.  Thus  it  is,  that 
for  one  reader  of  Archimedes  (even  amongst  those  who  know 
just  what  Archimedes  achieved)  there  are  thousands  of  read 
ers  of  Homer ;  and  of  Newton  it  may  be  truly  said,  that 
nine  tenths  of  those  who  are  familiar  with  his  doctrines  have 
never  studied  him,  except  at  second  hand.  Far  more  inti 
mate,  no  doubt,  is  that  sympathy  which  Shakspeare  and  Mil 
ton  inspire ;  '  being  dead  they  yet  speak,'  and  may  even  be 
said  to  form  a  part  of  the  very  minds  of  their  readers."  If 
comparative  neglect  be  the  lot  of  the  writings  even  of  New 
ton,  what  must  be  naturally  and  universally  the  fate  of  in 
ferior  men  ?  Of  that  treatise  of  Descartes,  in  which  he  lays 
the  foundation  of  analytical  geometry,  how  few  of  those  who 
have  pursued  that  science  to  heights  and  depths  of  which 
Descartes  never  dreamed,  ever  perused  a  syllable  !  The  case 
of  the  cultivators  of  chemistry,  and  of  many  other  modern 
sciences,  is  still  more  desperate.  A  few  years  obliterate  all 
traces  of  their  works ;  the  fortune  of  which  it  is,  to  become 
antiquated  while  their  authors  yet  survive,  —  virtually  obso 
lete  while  the  type  is  still  fresh  and  the  date  recent.  Their 
names  will  soon  be  known  only  in  the  page  of  the  historian 
of  science,  who  will  duly  record  in  a  few  brief  lines  the  dis 
coveries  their  authors  made,  and  the  still  greater  blunders 
they  committed ;  will  tell  us  that  they  were  strenuous  men  in 
their  day,  and  for  their  day  did  well ;  and  that  they  are  now 
gathered  to  their  fathers  !  —  Such  is  often  the  caput  mortuum 
of  a  life  of  experiments  ! 

In  that  deluge  of  books  with  which  the  world  is  inundated, 
the  lamentations  with  which  the  bibliomaniac  bemoans  the 
waste  of  time  and  the  barbarous  ravages  of  bigotry  and  igno 
rance,  appear  at  first  sight  somewhat  fantastical.  Yet  it  is 
not  without  reason  that  we  mourn  over  many  of  those  losses, 
especially  in  reference  to  history  ;  and  this,  not  merely  as 
they  have  involved  in  obscurity  some  important  truths,  but 


THE  VANITY  AND  GLORY  OF  LITERATURE.      261 

for  a  reason  more  nearly  related  to  our  present  subject,  and 
which  has  seldom  suggested  itself.  Paradoxical  as  it  may 
seem,  it  may  probably  be  said  with  truth,  that  the  very  multi 
plicity  of  books  with  which  we  are  now  perplexed  is  in  part 
owing  to  the  loss  of  some ;  and  that  if  we  had'  had  a  few 
volumes  more,  we  should  probably  have  had  many  less. 
The  countless  multitudes  of  speculations,  conjectures,  and 
criticisms  on  those  ample  fields  of  doubt,  which  the  ravages 
of  time  have  left,  open  to  interminable  discussion,  would  then 
have  been  spared  to  us.  An  "  hiatus  valde  deflendus  "  too  often 
leads  to  conjectures  still  more  "  lamentable  "  ;  and  a  moderate 
"  lacuna  "  becomes  the  text  of  an  immoderate  disquisition. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  is  doubtful  whether  —  except  in  the 
case  of  history  —  the  treasures  of  literature,  of  which  time 
has  deprived  us,  and  the  loss  of  which  literary  enthusiasts  so 
bitterly  regret,  have  been  so  inestimable.  We  are  disposed 
to  think  with  Gibbon,  in  his  remarks  on  the  burning  of  the 
Alexandrian  Library,  that  by  far  the  greater  part  of  the  mas 
terpieces  of  antiquity  have  been  secured  to  us ;  and  that, 
though  some  few  have  assuredly  been  lost,  there  is  no  reason 
to  believe  that  they  have  been  numerous.  The  lost  works, 
even  of  the  greatest  masters,  were  most  probably  inferior  to 
those  which  have  come  down  to  us.  Their  best  must  have 
been  those  most  admired,  most  frequently  copied,  most 
faithfully  preserved  ;  and  therefore,  on  all  these  accounts, 
the  most  likely  to  elude  the  hand  of  violence  and  the  casu 
alties  of  time.  "  I  sincerely  regret,"  says  the  historian, 
"  the  more  valuable  libraries  which  have  been  involved  in  the 
ruin  of  the  Roman  empire  :  but  when  I  seriously  compute 
the  lapse  of  ages,  the  waste  of  ignorance,  and  the  calamities 
of  war,  our  treasures  rather  than  our  losses  are  the  object  of 

my  surprise We  should  gratefully  remember,  that 

the  mischances  of  time  and  accident  have  spared  the  classic 
works  to  which  the  suffrage  of  antiquity  had  adjudged  the 
first  place  of  genius  and  glory  ;  the  teachers  of  ancient 
knowledge  who  are  still  extant,  had  perused  and  compared  the 


263 


THE   VANITY  AND  GLORY   OF   LITERATURE. 


writings  of  their  predecessors  ;  nor  can  it  fairly  be  presumed 
that  any  important  truth,  any  useful  discovery  in  art  or  nature, 
has  been  snatched  away  from  the  curiosity  of  modern  ages." 

We  have  but  to  glance  at  our  own  great  writers,  to  see 
how  wide  is  the  interval  between  their  best  and  their  worst 
productions.  Is  there  one,  at  all  voluminous,  of  whom  it  can 
be  said,  that  all  he  has  left  is  worthy  of  being  transmitted  to 
posterity  ?  It  is  true,  indeed,  that,  once  possessed  of  any  thing 
of  theirs,  we  are  naturally  reluctant  to  lose  it ;  and  should 
even  consider  it  a  species  of  sacrilege  to  destroy  it.  Yet,  in 
effect,  very  much  they  have  left  is  as  if  it  were  lost,  —  for  it 
is  never  read.  As  in  other  cases,  we  neglect  what  we  have, 
and  pine  for  what  we  have  not,  though  if  we  had  it  we  could 
not  use  it.  Are  there,  of  the  thousands  most  familiar  with 
their  chief  writings,  fifty  who  have  read  all  Bacon,  all  Milton, 
all  Locke  ? 

We  therefore  acquiesce  in  the  judgment  of  Gibbon,  not 
only  as  the  best  consolation  under  our  inevitable  losses,  but 
as  in  all  probability  the  true  estimate  of  it ;  not,  however, 
intending  thereby  any  apology  for  the  acts  which  reduce  us 
to  this  exercise  of  faith  :  neither  does  Gibbon.  On  the  con 
trary,  as  Mr.  D'Israeli  says,  "  he  pathetically  describes  the 
empty  library  of  Alexandria  after  the  Christians  had  de 
stroyed  it " ;  though  he  does  not  in  that  place  suggest  any 
of  the  alleviations  to  which  we  have  just  adverted  ;  he  re 
serves  them  for  the  time  when  he  has  to  describe  the  second 
and  greater  desolation  on  the  same  spot  by  the  Mahometans  ! 
On  this  last  occasion,  he  softens  somewhat  of  his  pathos, 
perhaps  of  his  indignation,  and  makes  the  philosophic  esti 
mate  which  we  have  cited.  Without  abating  any  of  the  in 
dignation  and  contempt  due  to  such  fanatical  ignorance, 
whether  Christian  or  Mahometan,  it  is  impossible,  we  think, 
to  deny  the  sound  sense  and  discrimination  of  the  great  his 
torian's  observations.* 

*  "  I  believe  that  a  philosopher,"  says  Mr.  D'Israeli,  "  would  consent 
to  lose  any  poet  to  regain  an  historian."  Perhaps  so ;  if  the  exchange 


THE  VANITY  AND  GLORY  OF  LITERATURE.      263 

Large  as  may  be  the  waste  of  time,  and  still  larger  the 
virtual  extinction  of  books  by  a  silent  process  of  oblivion, 


were  always  between  a  Claudian  and  a  Tacitus.  But  the  latter  must  be 
great  indeed,  to  outweigh  a  Hcmer,  a  Shakspeare,  or  a  Milton.  "  Fancy 
may  be  supplied,"  he  remarks,  "  but  truth  once  lost  in  the  annals  of 
mankind,  leaves  a  chasm  never  to  be  filled."  We  fear  that  the  fancy  of 
the  highest  poetry  is  not  quite  so  promptly  made  to  order ;  while,  on  the 
other  hand,  Niebuhr  has  pretty  clearly  shown  that  history  is  far  from 
being  always  truth ;  not  to  mention  that,  if  it  were  so,  the  highest  cre 
ations  of  poetry  —  those  of  a  Homer  or  a  Shakspeare  —  embody  truth 
yet  more  comprehensive  and  universal  than  any  consigned  to  the  page 
of  history.  Montaigne  remarks  in  one  of  his  essays,  that  the  value  of 
history  does  not  consist  in  the  facts  it  records,  but  in  the  instruction  the 
facts  are  capable  of  conveying ;  and  this  is  so  true,  that  the  parts  of  his 
tory  which  are  positively  fabulous  are  often  more  full  of  significance, 
and  have  really  had  more  influence,  than  the  most  accurate  recital  of  the 
bare  facts.  Plutarch,  with  all  his  credulity  and  love  of  fable,  has,  we 
suspect,  really  exerted  more  power  over  the  minds  of  men  than  any  of 
the  more  authentic  historians  of  antiquity.  The  graphic  account  which 
Livy  has  left  of  the  discordant  counsels  given  to  the  Samnites  by 
Herennius  Pontius  respecting  the  disposal  of  the  Romans  taken  at  the 
pass  of  Caudium,  has,  perhaps,  about  as  much  historic  truth  in  it  as  any 
other  of  the  "  thousand  and  one  "  legends  which  his  historic  Muse  (right 
ly  so  called)  has  seized  and  adorned ;  but  the  whole  is  infinitely  more 
instructive  and  more  impressive  than  any  narrative  of  the  negotiations 
for  a  surrender  of  prisoners  of  war,  with  which  tame  history  has  sup 
plied  us.  That  the  fox  spoke  to  the  crane  what  is  attributed  to  him  in 
the  fable,  is  very  doubtful ;  and  that  some  "  nobody  "  killed  some  other 
"  nobody  "  may  be  very  certain  ;  but  the  fable,  in  the  one  case,  is  full  of 
meaning,  and  the  fact  of  history  may  be  wholly  insignificant.  In  our 
own  age,  honorably  distinguished  as  one  of  severe  historic  research,  and 
which  has  produced  more  than  one  historic  work,  and  one  very  recently, 
which  posterity  will  reckon  among  its  treasures,  it  is  well  that  historians, 
while  accurately  distinguishing  truth  from  fable,  should  neither  forget 
the  beauties  nor  the  uses  of  the  latter ;  nor,  on  the  other  hand,  overwhelm 
us  with  tediously  minute  investigations  of  insignificant  facts,  which  no 
one  cares  for,  and  as  to  which  it  does  not  matter  whether  they  happened 
in  this  way  or  that,  or  not  at  all.  In  the  department  of  history  there  is 
no  more  frequent  cause  of  that  plethora  of  books  under  which  the  world 
is  groaning.  Walter  Scott's  remarks  on  his  own  Life  of  Napoleon  are 
true  in  their  principle,  whatever  we  may  think  of  the  application  of 
them :  —  "  Superficial  it  must  be,  but  I  do  not  care  for  the  charge.  Bet- 


264  THE   VANITY   AND   GLORY    OF    LITERATURE. 

each  generation  far  more  than  makes  up  the  loss ;  and  though 
suffering  from  a  glut,  the  world  goes  on  adding  to  their  num 
ber,  as  if  in  fear  of  an  intellectual  famine.  One  might  im 
agine  that  in  some  departments  of  literature  there  would 
necessarily  come  a  pause ;  for  instance,  considering  there  is 
already  more  of  first-rate  poetry  and  fiction  than  any  body 
can  pretend  to  find  time  to  read,  that  none  would  be  found 
to  venture  into  these  fields,  unless  persuaded  that  he  had 
something  to  offer  better  than  Homer,  Shakspeare,  or  Scott ! 
Equally  prolific  is  the  literature  of  memoirs  and  biography. 
There  is  a  little  better  reason  for  this ;  yet  the  rage  for  it,  it 
must  be  confessed,  is  often  carried  to  a  ludicrous  extent.  No 
sooner  does  any  man  of  mark  or  likelihood  die,  than,  in  ad 
dition  to  his  life,  whole  volumes  of  his  letters  and  journals  are 
thrust  upon  the  world.*  But  of  all  this  it  would  be  as  unrea- 

ter  a  superficial  book,  which  brings  well  and  strikingly  together  the 
known  and  acknowledged  facts,  than  a  dull,  boring  narrative,  pausing 
to  see  farther  into  a  millstone  every  moment  than  the  nature  of  the 
millstone  admits.  Nothing  is  so  tiresome  as  walking  through  some 
beautiful  scene  with  a  minute  philosopher,  a  botanist,  or  pebble-gatherer, 
who  is  eternally  calling  your  attention  from  the  grand  features  of  the 
natural  picture,  to  look  at  grasses  and  chucky-stones."  If  Niebuhr  had 
given  us,  by  his  matchless  acuteness  of  investigation  and  boundless 
learning,  nothing  more  than  the  correction  of  minute  dates  and  the  true 
version  of  petty  events,  his  powers  would  have  been  sadly  wasted. 

*  It  is  the  same  in  France,  in  Germany,  everywhere.  "  Scarce  has 
an  invitation  or  washing-bill  of  the  happy  Matthison  remained  unprint- 
ed ;  of  Jean  Paul  we  know  on  what  day  he  got  his  first  braces  ;  of  Voss, 
what  he  spent  in  every  inn  during  his  little  journeys ;  of  Schiller,  in 
what  coach  he  drove  to  visit  Goethe.  With  such  like  trash,  in  short, 
are  the  many  hundred  volumes  of  biography  and  correspondence  filled." 
—  Menzel.  Yet  even  such  absurdities  are  but  the  abuse  of  a  reasonable 
wish,  —  that  of  knowing  celebrated  men  in  their  retirement  and  natural 
character.  The  details  of  their  private  life  are  perused,  we  suspect,  with 
greater  eagerness  than  those  of  their  public  career,  however  splendid. 
It  is  true  that  the  "  hero  "  in  these  cases  is  as  apt  to  vanish  to  the  eyes  of 
the  reader  as  to  the  "  valefcde-chambre  "  ;  but  the  reader  recognizes  what 
he  likes  better  than  a  "  hero,"  — a  man.  Still,  to  see  great  men  in  their 
undress,  it  certainly  is  not  necessary  to  strip  them  stark  naked.  The  inven 
tory  of  their  linen  and  their  washerwoman's  bills  might  be  left  sacred. 


THE  VANITY  AND  GLORY  OF  LITERATURE.      265 

sonable  as  ungrateful  to  complain.  Fugitive  as  the  interest  of 
such  literature  must  be,  each  generation  naturally  wishes  to 
know  more  of  its  contemporaries  than  a  future  age  will  conde 
scend  to  learn  :  and  from  almost  the  worst  of  such  works  some 
casual  gleam  of  light  may  illumine  the  page  of  the  future 
historian ;  some  fact  be  rescued  which  will  enable  him  to 
adjust  more  accurately  the  transactions,  and  estimate  more 
truly  the  characters,  of  the  time.  The  only  doubt  is  whether 
here,  as  elsewhere,  the  very  copiousness  of  the  materials 
will  not  produce  the  same  effect  as  the  dearth  of  them ; 
whether  the  judicial  sentence  of  an  historian  who  shall  write 
three  hundred  years  hence,  and  who  shall  honestly  examine 
and  sift  his  materials,  will  not  be  as  little  to  be  hoped  for  as 
that  of  some  profound  judges, —  delayed,  and  still  delayed, 
till  death  has  overtaken-them  amidst  their  unresolved  doubts. 
While  the  past  is  receiving  into  its  tranquil  depths  such  huge 
masses  of  literature,  it  is  perpetually  yielding  us,  by  a  contra 
ry  process,  and  perhaps  nearly  bulk  for  bulk,  materials  which 
it  had  long  concealed.  While  work  after  work  of  science 
and  history  is  daily  passing  away,  pushed  aside,  beyond  all 
chance  of  republication,  by  superior  works  of  a  similar  kind, 
containing  the  last  discoveries  and  most  accurate  results,  it  is 
curious  to  see  with  what  eagerness  the  literary  antiquary,  in 
all  departments,  is  ransacking  the  past  for  every  fragment 
of  unprinted  manuscript.  Many  of  these,  if  they  had  been 
published  when  they  were  written,  would  have  been  perfectly 
worthless.  They  derive  their  sole  value  from  the  rust  of  age, 
just  as  other  things  derive  theirs  from  the  gloss  of  novelty. 
It  may  with  truth  be  said  of  them,  Periissent,  ni  periissent ; 
unless  they  had  been  buried,  they  would  never  have  lived. 
How  many  societies  have  been  recently  formed  with  the  laud 
able  object  of  giving  to  the  world  what  no  private  enterprise 
would  venture  to  put  to  press.  It  is  true  that,  judging  from 
many  of  the  works  thus  published,  one  might  be  inclined  to 
say  that  some  of  our  literary  treasure-finders  were  too  strong 
ly  of  Justice  Shallow's  opinion,  that  "  things  that  are  mouldy 

23 


266  THE   VANITY  AND   GLORY   OF   LITERATURE. 

lack  use."  "  It  was  with  difficulty,"  says  Geoffrey  Crayon, 
after  describing  his  little  antiquarian  parson's  raptures  over 
the  old  drinking  song,  "  it  was  with  difficulty  the  squire  was 
made  to  comprehend,  that,  though  a  jovial  song  of  the  pres 
ent  day  was  but  a  foolish  sound  in  the  ears  of  wisdom,  and 
beneath  the  notice  of  a  learned  man,  yet  a  trowl  written  by 
a  tosspot  several  hundred  years  since  was  a  matter  worthy 
of  the  gravest  research,  and  enough  to  set  whole  colleges  by 
the  ears." 

But  neither  do  we  complain  of  all  this.  As  in  the  case  of 
memoirs  and  biographies,  the  laborious  trifling  of  the  merest 
drudge  in  antiquities  may  supply  the  historian  with  some 
collateral  lights,  and  furnish  materials  for  more  vivid  descrip 
tions  of  the  past ;  or,  coming  into  contact  with  highly  crea 
tive  minds,  like  that  of  Walter  Scott,  such  collections  may 
contribute  the  rude  elements  of  the  sublimest  or  most  beauti 
ful  creations  of  fiction.  None  can  read  his  novels  and  de 
spise  the  study  of  the  most  trivial  details  of  local  antiquities, 
when  it  is  seen  for  what  beautiful  textures  they  may  supply 
the  threads.  It  is  the  privilege  of  genius  such  as  his  to  ex 
tract  their  gold-dust  out  of  the  most  worthless  books,  —  books 
which  to  others  would  be  to  the  last  degree  tedious  and  unat 
tractive,  —  and  the  felicity  with  which  he  did  this  was  one  of 
his  most  striking  characteristics.  In  hundreds  of  cases  it  is 
wonderful  to  see  how  a  snatch  of  an  old  border  song,  an 
antique  phrase,  used  as  he  uses  it,  a  story  or  fragment  of  a 
story  from  some  obscure  author,  shall  suddenly  be  invested 
with  an  intrinsic  force  or  beauty,  which  the  original  would 
never  have  suggested  to  an  ordinary  reader,  and  which,  in 
fact,  they  derive,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  from  the  light  of 
genius  which  he  brought  to  play  upon  them.  In  those  bright 
morning  or  evening  tints  even  the  barren  heath  or  the  rugged 
mass  of  graystone  looks  picturesque  ;  or  such  uses  of  an-^ 
tiquity  remind  us  of  the  gate  of  the  old  Tolbooth,  or  frag 
ments  of  the  ruins  of  Melrose,  incorporated  with  Abbotsford. 
The  quality  above  referred  to,  Mr.  Lockhart  has  happily 


THE  VANITY  AND  GLORY  OF  LITERATURE.      267 

characterized.  "The  lamp  of  his  zeal  burnt  on  brighter  and 
brighter  amidst  the  dust  of  parchments ;  his  love  and  pride 
vivified  whatever  he  hung  over  in  these  dim  records,  and 
patient  antiquarianism,  long  brooding  and  meditating,  became 
gloriously  transmuted  into  the  winged  spirit  of  national 
poetrjr." 

In  this  way  minute  portions  of  the  past  are  constantly  en 
tering  by  new  combinations  into  fresh  forms  of  life,  and  out 
of  these  old  materials,  continually  decomposed  but  continually 
rccombined,  scope  is  afforded  for  an  everlasting  succession 
of  imaginative  literature.  In  the  same  way  every  work  of 
genius,  by  coming,  as  it  were,  into  mesmeric  rapport  with 
the  affinities  of  kindred  genius,  and  stimulating  its  latent  ener 
gies,  is  itself  the  parent  of  many  others,  and  furnishes  the 
materials  and  rudiments  of  ever  new  combinations.*  Of 

*  The  greater  part  of  those  resemblances  in  thoughts  and  images, 
which  a  carping  criticism  sets  down  as  plagiarisms,  are,  we  are  persuaded, 
nothing  more  than  such  combinations  :  and  even  of  plagiarism,  properly 
so  called,  we  have  as  little  doubt  that  the  instances  are  far  fewer  than  has 
generally  been  supposed.  Many  so  named  have  been  simple  coinci 
dences  of  thought,  the  result  of  similarly  constituted  minds,  revolving 
the  same  subjects  5  and,  true  though  it  be  that  the  objects  and  combina 
tions  of  thought  are  infinite,  yet  considering  that  humanity,  and  those 
things  which  chiefly  interest  it,  are  always  and  everyAvhere  the  same,  it  is 
perhaps  the  inexhaustible  variety,  and  not  the  occasional  similarity,  of 
conceptions  which  ought  to  amaze  us.  The  remarks  of  Sir  Thomas 
Browne,  in  his  "Religio  Medici,"  on  some  observed  coincidences  be 
tween  himself  and  Montaigne,  are  well  worth  the  attention  of  every 
critic  who  would  be  just  to  genius.  Many  other  supposed  plagiarisms 
.are  but  the  unconscious  reflection  of  sentiments  and  images,  the  source 
of  which  had  been  long  forgotten.  A  person  must  be  very  dull  or  very 
uncharitable,  —  or  he  will  be  slow  to  suspect  a  mind  of  any  originality 
of  the  meanness  of  larceny. .  For  any  such  mind  must  always  find  it 
easier  to  live  honestly  than  by  stealing.  As  to  the  greater  part  of  those 
parallelisms  and  resemblances  on  which  an  unworthy  criticism  has 
founded  the  charge  against  great  writers,  they  will,  as  we  have  said,  be 
generally  found  to  indicate  nothing  more  than  that  the  thoughts  of  oth 
ers  have  suggested  the  germ  of  new  conceptions;  new  by  a  juster  appli 
cation,  or  a  more  felicitous  expression,  or  a  fresh  development  of  the 


268  THE   VANITY  AND   GLORY  OF    LITERATURE. 

more  than  one  great  mind  it  has  been  recorded,  that  they  sel 
dom  read  any  work  which  strongly  excited  them,  without 
meditating  one' on  a  similar  theme.  The  Latin  poet  com 
plained  of  the  injustice  of  our  fathers  in  "  having  stolen  all 
our  good  things,"  by  uttering  them  before  we  had  the  oppor 
tunity.  The  complaint  is  one  in  which  an  author  must  look  for 
little  sympathy  from  the  world.  When  we  think  of  the  infinite 
variety  of  human  intellects,  —  no  two  of  which  are  alike,  any 
more  than  men's  faces,  —  the  exhaustless  variety  of  nature 
and  of  art,  and  the  equally  infinite  variety  of  the  analogies  and 
relations  of  objects,  we  see  that  the  human  mind  may  expa 
tiate  for  ever,  and  never  find  lack  of  argument,  wit,  and 
fancy  ;  but  how  small  a  portion  can  be  preserved  or  retained  ! 
From  the  time  that  Ovid  uttered  his  complaint,  to  the  present 
moment,  the  perpetual  flood  has  been  pouring  upon  the  world, 
—  and  it  still  rolls  on  broader  and  deeper  than  ever. 

Considering  the  vastness  of  the  accumulations  of  literature, 
and  the  impossibility  of  mastering  them,  it  is   not  wonder- 


original  thought.  They  are  in  truth  no  more  plagiarisms  than  a  chem 
ical  compound,  the  result  of  "mysterious  affinities,  is  identical  with  the 
elements  which  enter  into  it.  There  is  all  the  difference  between  sug 
gestion  and  plagiarism,  that  there  is  between  making  blood  from  food, 
and  receiving  it  into  the  veins  by  transfusion.  In  Shakspeare  and  Scott 
we  see  both  how  much  and  how  little  a  great  genius  derives  from 
sources  without  himself.  "  Observing,"  says  Moore,  in  his  "  Life  of  Lord 
Byron,"  "  a  volume  in  his  gondola,  with  a  number  of  paper  marks  be 
tween  the  leaves,  I  inquired  of  him  what  it  was.  '  Only  a  book,'  he 
answered,  '  from  which  I  am  trying  to  crib,  as  I  do  whenever  I  can ; 
and  that 's  the  way  I  get  the  character  of  an  original  poet.'  On  taking 
it  up  and  looking  at  it,  I  exclaimed,  'Ah,  my  friend  Agathon  ! '  '  What ! '" 
he  cried  archly,  '  you  have  been  beforehand  with  me  there,  have  you  1 ' " 
Though  in  imputing  to  himself  premeditated  plagiarism,  he  was,  of 
course,  but  jesting,  it  was,  I  am  inclined  to  think,  his  practice,  when 
engaged  in  the  composition  of  any  work,  to  excite  thus  his  vein  by  the 
perusal  of  others  on  the  same  subject  or  plan,  from  which  the  slightest 
hint  caught  by  his  imagination,  as  he  read,  was  sufficient  to  kindle  there 
such  a  train  of  thought  as,  but  for  that  spark,  had  never  been  awakened, 
and  of  which  he  himself  soon  forgot  the  source."  —  Vol.  IV. 


THE  VANITY  AND  GLORY  OF  LITERATURE.      269 

ful  that  the  idea  should  sometimes  have  suggested  itself,  that 
it  might  be  possible  in  a  series  of  brief  publications  to  distil, 
as  it  were,  the  quintessence  of  books,  and  condense  folios  into 
pamphlets.  "  Were  all  books  thus  reduced,"  says  Addison, 
"  many  a  bulky  author  would  make  his  appearance  in  a  pen 
ny  paper.  There  would  scarce  be  such  a  thing  in  nature  as 
a  folio ;  the  works  of  an  age  would  be  contained  on  a  few 
shelves ;  not  to  mention  millions  of  volumes  that  would  be 
utterly  annihilated."  One  such  attempt  we  remember  being 
made  with  considerable  pretensions ;  but  it  was  as  futile  as 
every  such  attempt  must  be.  Without  going  the  length  of 
Montaigne,  who  says  that  "  every  abridgment  of  a  book  is 
a  foolish  abridgment,"  it  may  be  truly  said,  not  only  that  the 
human  mind  cannot  profitably  digest  intellectual  food  in  such 
a  condensed  shape,  but  that  every  work  really  worth  reading 
bears  upon  it  the  impress  of  the  mind  that  gave  it  birth,  and 
ceases  to  attract  and  to  impress  when  reduced  to  a  syllabus  ; 
its  faults  and  its  excellences  alike  vanish  in  the  process.  It 
is  of  much  importance,  however,  if  authors  who  cannot  be 
thus  mutilated  desire  to  live,  that  they  should  study  brevity. 
Our  voluminous  forefathers  of  the  seventeenth  century  seem 
never  to  have  attempted  condensation  ;  but  to  have  commit 
ted  all  that  they  thought  to  writing,  and  for  the  most  part  in 
all  the  redundance  of  the  forms  first  suggested.  They  acted 
as  though  we,  their  posterity,  should  have  nothing  to  do  but 
to  sit  down  and  read  what  they  had  written.  They  were 
much  mistaken  ;  and  the  consequence  is,  that  their  folios  for 
the  most  part  remain  unread  altogether. 

It  is  the  severe  beauty,  the  condensed  meaning,  of  the  mas 
terpieces  of  classical  antiquity,  which,  probably  as  much  as 
as  any  thing  else,  has  given  them  their  victory  over  time  ; 
constituting  them  not  merely  models  of  taste,  but  rendering 
them  moderate  in  bulk, —  the  majority  of  them  portable. 
The  light  skiff  will  shoot  the  cataracts  of  time  when  a  heav 
ier  vessel  will  infallibly  go  down. 

While  it  is  too  sadly  certain  that  by  far  the  greater  part  of 
23* 


270  THE   VANITY  AND   GLORY   OF   LITERATURE. 

those  who  toil  for  remembrance  among  men  must  be  de 
frauded  of  their  hopes,  it  is  well  for  genius  to  recollect  that 
the  doom  may  be  indefinitely  delayed  by  due  care  on  its  own 
part ;  just  as,  though  nothing  can  avert  death,  a  wise  and 
prudent  regard  to  health  may  secure  a  late  termination  and  a 
green  old  age.  Or  its  case  may  be  compared  to  that  of  men 
who  labor  under  some  incurable  chronic  malady  ;  it  must  be 
fatal  at  last,  —  but  by  a  due  regimen  and  self-control,  the 
patient  may  outlive  many  of  more  robust  health,  who  are 
madly  negligent  of  the  boon.  It  is  astonishing  what  signal 
genius  will  sometimes  effect  to  give  permanent  popularity  to 
books,  even  in  those  departments  in  which  the  progress  of 
knowledge  soon  renders  them  very  imperfect.  They  maintain 
their  supremacy  notwithstanding ;  and  their  successors  prolong 
their  influence  by  means  of  note  and  supplement.  Such  will 
probably  be  the  case  with  Paley's  works  on  "  Natural  Theol 
ogy  "  and  the  "  Evidences  of  Christianity."  Hume's  "  His 
tory  of  England  "  promises  to  be  a  still  stronger  instance, 
in  spite,  not  only  of  its  many  deficiencies,  but  of  its  enormous 
errors. 

It  is,  indeed,  a  great  triumph  of  genius  when  it  is  capable 
of  so  impressing  itself  upon  its  productions,  so  moulding  and 
shaping  them  to  beauty,  as  to  make  men  unwilling  to  return 
the  gold  into  the  melting-pot,  and  work  it  up  afresh  ;  when  it 
is  felt  that  from  the  less  accurate  work  we  after  all  learn 
more,  and  receive  more  vivid  impressions,  than  from  the 
more  correct,  but  less  effective,  productions  of  an  inferior 
artist.  To  attain  this  species  of  longevity,  genius  must  not 
be  content  with  being  a  mere  mason,  but  must  aspire  to  be 
an  architect ;  it  must  seek  to  give  preciousness  to  the  gold 
and  silver  by  the  beauty  of  the  cup  or  vase  into  which  they 
are  moulded,  and  to  make  them  as  valuable  for  their  form  as- 
for  their  matter. 

The  French  were  formerly  very  sensitive  to  our  want  of 
artistic  skill  in  our  literary  composition.  Indeed,  Laharpe  pre 
sumed  to  assert  that  "  Tom  Jones  "  was  the  only  book  in  the 


THE   VANITY   AND   GLORY    OF    LITERATURE.  271 

English  language  !  But  we  may  take  comfort  on  comparing 
ourselves  with  the  Germans.  There  is  no  country  in  Europe 
in  which  the  mortality  even  of  valuable  works  is  so  frequent 
ly  the  result  of  a  neglect  of  this  sort  as  Germany  ;  none  in 
which  critics,  historians,  theologians,  are  so  content  to  give  to 
the  world  their  crude  and  imperfect  thoughts  ;  marked,  in 
deed,  by  a  prodigality,  but  as  often  by  an  abuse  of  learning  ; 
by  a  command  of  ample  materials,  but  employed  without  judg 
ment,  taste,  or  method.  Their  books,  in  consequence,  soon 
give  way  to  another  fleeting  generation,  manufactured  in  the 
same  way,  and  with  as  little  hope  of  permanent  popularity. 

Nor  is  there  any  country,  though  all  are  chargeable  with 
the  fault,  to  which  Menzel's  scornful  remarks  on  "  books 
made  out  of  books,"  so  strongly  apply.  "  Germany,"  says 
he,  "  is  thronged  with  multitudes  who,  in  want  of  any  fixed 
employment,  immediately  begin  to  write  books  :  thus  reaping, 
as  soon  as  possible,  the  fruits  of  what  they  have  learned  at 
the  universities,  and  inundating  the  world  with  an  immense 
number  of  crude  and  boyish  works."  It  is  necessary  only 
to  inspect  many  German  volumes  to  see  that  they  are  just  the 
produce  of  a  —  note-book  ;  that  the  task  has  begun  and  ended 
in  the  carting  of  so  much  rubbish,  and  shooting  it  out  into  a 
bookseller's  shop,  —  where,  at  the  best,  it  may  serve  as  a 
collection  of  materials  for  an  edifice  which  somebody  else  is 
to  build.  Profuse  reading  is  often  their  only  characteristic  ; 
and  not  always  is  there  any  sure  sign  of  this  :  for  the  prodi 
gal  references  with  which  page  after  page  in  many  such 
works  is  half  filled,  are  often  slavishly  copied  from  other 
writers,  and  the  parade  of  learning  is  as  empty  as  it  is  super 
fluous.  Niebuhr  bitterly  complains  of  this  practice  ;  and 
justly  stigmatizes  it  as  one  of  the  dishonest  tricks  of  literature. 
He  himself  tells  us,  and  we  doubt  not  with  perfect  truth,  that 
he  was  in  the  habit  of  distinctly  specifying  all  those  citations 
which,  though  employed  by  him,  had  not  occurred  in  the 
course  of  his  own  independent  study  of  his  authorities  ;  and 
contends,  that  wherever  a  reference  has*been  suggested  by 


272  THE   VANITY   AND  GLORY   OF   LITERATURE. 

another,  the  secondary  as  well  as  the  primary  authority 
should  be  given,  accompanied  by  the  statement  of  obligation. 
We  fear,  with  Dr.  Arnold,  that  this  remedy  would  not  cure 
the  evil ;  or  rather  that  it  would  increase  it.  The  pages  of 
these  merciless  writers  would  be  twice  as  dull  from  this  double 
"  bestowment  of  their  tediousness  "  ;  they  would  delight  in 
troubling  the  reader  with  the  whole  history  of  each  long  liter 
ary  chase  ;  and  consider  a  double,  or  still  better  a  quadruple, 
array  of  references  (though  only  a  series  of  transcriptions) 
as  a  prouder  proof  of  their  erudition.  What  is  really  re 
quired  is,  that  the  writer  should  honestly  endeavor  to  make 
his  citations  as  few,  not  as  many,  as  possible ;  and  confine 
himself  to  the  most  decisive,  brief,  and  accessible.  As  it  is, 
the  references  are  often  such  that  scarcely  three  readers  in 
ten  could  consult  them  if  they  would,  —  and  scarcely  one  out 
of  the  three  would  if  he  could  ;  while  perhaps,  nearly  as 
often,  the  very  point  thus  formidably  supported  is  a  fact  for 
which  no  references  are  wanted  at  all  ;  in  which  the  author 
ities  are  the  only  things  that  require  to  be  confirmed,  and  the 
proofs  the  only  things  that  need  verification.  Doubtless,  this 
parade  of  references  is  often  employed  for  what  Whately 
calls  the  "fallacy  of  references";  —  that  is,  in  support  of 
some  questionable  point,  and  in  the  hope  "  that  not  one  read 
er  out  of  twenty  will  be  at  the  pains  "  to  verify  their  rele 
vancy,  or  rather  to  detect  their  impertinence.  But  quite  as 
often  they  are  used  for  mere  ostentation. 

Those  authors,  whose  subjects  require  them  to  be  volumi 
nous,  will  do  well,  if  they  would  be  remembered  as  long  as 
possible,  not  to  omit  a  duty  which  authors  in  general,  but 
especially  modern  authors,  are  too  apt  to  neglect,  —  that  of 
appending  to  their  works  a  good  index.  For  their  deplorable 
deficiencies  in  this  respect,  Professor  De  Morgan,  speaking  of 
historians,  assigns  the  curious  reason,  "  that  they  think  to 
oblige  their  readers  to  go  through  them  from  beginning  to 
end,  by  making  this  the  only  way  of  coming  at  the  contents 
of  their  volumes.  They  are  much  mistaken  ;  and  they  might 


THE    VANITY   AND   GLORY    OF    LITERATURE.  273 

learn  from  their  own  mode  of  dealing  with  the  writings  of 
others,  how  their  own  will  be  used  in  turn."  *  We  think  that 
the  unwise  indolence  of  authors  has  probably  had  much  more 
to  do  with  the  matter,  than  the  reasons  thus  humorously  as 
signed  ;  but  the  fact  which  he  proceeds  to  mention  is  incon- 
testably  true.  "  No  writer "  (of  this  class)  "  is  so  much 
read  as  the  one  who  makes  a  good  index,  —  or  so  much 
cited." 

Johnson,  in  commenting  on  the  fate  of  books  in  one  of 
the  papers  of  the  "  Idler,"  speaks  of  the  necessity  of  an  au 
thor's  choosing  a  theme  of  enduring  interest,  if  he  would  be 
remembered  ;  and  contrasts  the  once  enormous  popularity 
of  "  Hudibras  "  with  its  present  comparative  neglect.  Alas  ! 
we  fear  that  this  is  but  an  insufficient  antiseptic.  Though 
it  is  generally  necessary,  if  an  author  would  have  even  a 
chance  of  living,  that  he  should  take  no  temporary  topic,  he 
may  choose  the  most  enduring  —  and  be  ephemeral  notwith 
standing  ;  and  what  we  cannot  conceal  from  ourselves  is, 
that  he  may  even  treat  his  subject  well,  and  yet  be  forgotten. 
But  we  suspect  that  this  caution  is  of  little  importance.  Such 
is  the  vigor  of  great  genius,  —  and  without  it  nothing  will  be 
remembered,  —  that  where  there  is  that,  it  will  triumph  over 
all  the  disadvantages  of  a  topic  of  evanescent  interest.  Pas 
cal's  "  Provincial  Letters  "  are  still  read,  we  apprehend,  quite 
as  frequently  as  Bossuet's  "  Discourse  on  Universal  History," 
and  even  "  Hudibras  "  a  good  deal  more  than  Johnson's  own 
"  Irene  "  ;  while  the  obscurities  of  some  celebrated  satire  — 
the  very  name  of  a  Bufo  or  a  Bavius  —  shall  for  ages  con 
tinue  to  provoke  and  baffle  the  ingenuity  of  the  stolid  com 
mentator,  who  might  just  as  profitably  be  engaged,  with 
Addison's  virtuoso,  in  the  chase  of  butterflies,  or  the  collec 
tion  of  cockle-shells. 

If  genius  would  attain  its  uttermost  longevity,  another  con- 

*  Eeferences  for  the  History  of  the  Mathematical  Sciences  in  the 
Companion  to  the  British  Almanac,  1843,  p.  42. 


274  THE   VANITY  AND   GLORY   OF   LITERATURE. 

dition  it  must  submit  to  is,  that  of  despising  an  ad  captandum 
compliance  with  transient  tastes,  and  the  affectation  of  pecu 
liarities  for  the  purpose  and  in  the  hope  of  forming,  as  it 
were,  a  school.  ^It  is  not  to  be  denied  that  literary  fashions, 
like  others,  may  be  extensive  and  prevalent  for  a  time, — 
but  they  expire  with  the  age.  Great  genius  for  a  while  will 
consecrate  almost  any  eccentricities,  and  even  acquire  for 
them  much  temporary  popularity.  But  it  may  well  be  ques 
tioned  whether,  where  there  is  great  genius  and  where  it 
has  succeeded  by  such  artifices,  it  might  not,  even  among 
its  contemporaries,  have  gained  equal  applause  at  a  less  cost 
than  that  of  simplicity  and  nature.  But,  at  all  events,  let 
the  writer  who  attempts  to  attain  fame  by  any  such  fantastic 
methods,  recollect  how  ridiculous  a  reigning  fashion  looks  a 
century  afterwards  ;  for  not  less  ridiculous  will  then  appear 
every  thing  that  bears  the  mark  of  affectation  and  mannerism, 
however  successful  for  a  time.  The  Euphuism  of  Eliza 
beth's  day  is  now  viewed  only  with  contemptuous  wonder  : 
and  even  Dr.  Johnson,  though  he  still  retains  a  large  meas 
ure  of  popularity,  would  have  retained  far  more  had  it  not 
been  for  his  antitheses  and  his  Latinisms.  Addison,  though 
nearly  a  century  earlier,  is  still  more  admired,  and  without 
any  deductions. 

It  may  be  said,  perhaps,  that  if  in  so  vast  a  majority  of 
cases  the  hope  of  immortality  is  a  dream,  it  does  not  much 
matter  how  men  write.  Success,  though  ephemeral,  is  the 
great  point.  To  this  we  have,  of  course,  nothing  to  say, 
except  that  we  trust  many  would  rather  not  gain  reputation 
at  all,  durable  or  brief,  by  a  departure  from  simplicity  and 
nature  ;  and  that,  though  immortality  be  out  of  the  case,  a 
gentle  decay  and  serene  old  age  have  always  been  thought 
desirable  things,  rather  than  a  sudden  and  violent  dissolution. 
Immortality  is  not  to  be  thought  of,  —  but  euthanasia  is  not 
to  be  despised. 

In  turning  over  the  pages  of  such  a  book  as  the  "  London 
Catalogue,"  one  is  struck,  amidst  the  apparent  mutations  in 


THE    VANITY   AND   GLORY   OF    LITERATURE.  275 

literature,  with  the  seemingly  fixed  and  unchanging  influence 
of  two  portions  of  it,  —  the  Greek  and  Roman  Classics  and 
the  BIBLE.  Much  of  the  literature  produced  by  both  par 
takes,  no  doubt,  of  the  fate  which  attends  other  kinds  ;  the 
books  they  severally  elicit,  whether  critical  or  theological, 
pass  away  ;  but  they  themselves  retain  their  hold  on  the  hu 
man  mind,  become  ingrafted  into  the  literature  of  every 
civilized  nation,  and  continue  to  evoke  a  never-ending  series 
of  volumes  in  their  defence,  illustration,  or  explication.  On 
a  very  moderate  computation,  we  think  it  may  be  affirmed, 
from  an  inspection  of  this  catalogue,  that  at  least  one  third 
of  the  works  it  contains  are  the  consequence,  more  or  less 
direct,  of  the  two  portions  of  literature  to  which  we  here  re 
fer  ;  in  the  shape  of  new  editions,  translations,  commentaries, 
grammars,  dictionaries,  or  historical,  chronological,  and  geo 
graphical  illustrations. 

The  old  Greek  and  Roman  Classics  have  indeed  a  para 
doxical  destiny.  They  cannot,  it  seems,  grow  old  ;  and 
time,  which  "  antiquates  antiquity  itself,"  to  use  an  expres 
sion  of  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  still  leaves  them  untouched. 
The  ancients  alone  possessed  in  perfection  the  art  of  em 
balming  thought.  The  severe  taste  which  surrounds  them 
has  operated  like  the  pure  air  of  Egypt  in  preserving  the 
sculptures  and  paintings  of  that  country  ;  where  travellers 
tell  us  that  the  traces  of  the  chisel  are  often  as  sharp,  and 
the  colors  of  the  paintings  as  bright,  as  if  the  artists  had  quit 
ted  their  work  but  yesterday. 

There  is  one  aspect  in  which  even  the  most  utilitarian 
despiser  of  the  classics  can  hardly  sneer  at  them.  From 
being  selected  by  the  unanimous  suffrage  of  all  civilized 
nations  (the  moment  they  become  worthy  of  the  name),  as 
an  integral  element  in  all  liberal  education,  as  the  masters  of 
language  and  models  of  taste,  these  venerable  authors  play, 
as  this  catalogue  shows,  a  very  important  part  even  in  the 
commercial  transactions  of  mankind.  It  is  curious  to  think 
of  these  ancient  spirits  furnishing  no  inconsiderable  portion 


276  THE   VANITY  AND   GLORY   OF   LITERATURE. 

of  the  modern  world  with  their  daily  bread  ;  and  in  the  em 
ployment  they  give  to  so  many  thousands  of  schoolmasters, 
editors,  commentators,  authors,  printers,  and  publishers,  con 
stituting  a  very  positive  item  in  the  industrial  activity  of  na 
tions.  A  political  economist,  thinking  only  of  his  own  sci 
ence,  should  look  with  respect  on  the  strains  of  Homer  and 
Virgil  ;  when  he  considers  that,  directly  or  indirectly,  they 
have  probably  produced  more  material  wealth  than  half  the 
mines  which  human  cupidity  has  opened,  or  half  the  inven 
tions  of  the  most  mechanical  age,  —  if  we  except  the  loom, 
the  steam-engine,  and  a  few  score  more.  It  is  very  foolish 
of  mankind,  some  may  say,  to  allow  them  this  varied  and 
permanent  influence.  But  into  that  question  we  need  not 
enter.  We  are  speaking  as  to  the  fact  only ;  and  shall 
leave  mankind  to  defend  themselves. 

The  Bible,  supposing  it  other  than  it  pretends  to  be,  pre 
sents  us  with  a  still  more  singular  phenomenon  in  the  space 
which  it  occupies  throughout  the  continued  history  of  litera 
ture.  We  see  nothing  like  it ;  and  it  may  well  perplex  the 
infidel  to  account  for  it.  Nor  need  his  sagacity  disdain  to 
enter  a  little  more  deeply  into  its  possible  causes,  than  he  is 
usually  inclined  to  do.  It  has  not  been  given  to  any  other 
book  of  religion,  thus  to  triumph  over  national  prejudices, 
and  lodge  itself  securely  in  the  heart  of  great  communities, 

—  varying  by  every  conceivable  diversity  of  language,  race, 
manners,  customs,  and  indeed  agreeing  in  nothing  but  a  ven 
eration  for  itself.     It  adapts  itself  with  facility  to  the  revolu 
tions  of  thought  and  feeling  which  shake  to  pieces  all  things 
else  ;  and   flexibly  accommodates  itself  to  the  progress  of 
society  and  the  changes  of  civilization.     Even  conquests, — 
the  disorganization  of  old  nations,  —  the  formation  of  new, 

—  do   not  affect  the  continuity  of  its  empire.     It  lays  hold 
of  the  new  as  of  the  old,  and  transmigrates  with  the  spirit 
of  humanity  ;  attracting  to   itself,  by  its  own  moral  power, 
in  all  the  communities  it  enters,  a  ceaseless  intensity  of  effort 
for  its  propagation,  illustration,  and  defence.     Other  systems 


THE   VANITY   AND  GLORY   OF   LITERATURE.  277 

of  religion  are  usually  delicate  exotics,  and  will  not  bear 
transplanting.  The  gods  of  the  nations  are  local  deities, 
and  reluctantly  quit  their  native  soil ;  at  all  events  they  pat 
ronize  only  their  favorite  races,  and  perish  at  once  when  the 
tribe  or  nation  of  their  worshippers  becomes  extinct,  —  often 
long  before.  Nothing,  indeed,  is  more  difficult  than  to  make 
foreigners  feel  any  thing  but  the  utmost  indifference  (except  as 
an  object  of  philosophic  curiosity)  about  the  religion  of  other 
nations  ;  and  no  portion  of  their  national  literature  is  re 
garded  as  more  tedious  or  unattractive  than  that  which  treats 
of  their  theology.  The  elegant  mythologies  of  Greece  and 
Rome  made  no  proselytes  among  other  nations,  and  fell 
hopelessly  the  moment  they  fell.  The  Koran  of  Mahomet 
has,  it  is  true,  been  propagated  by  the  sword  ;  but  it  has 
been  propagated  by  nothing  else  ;  and  its  dominion  has  been 
limited  to  those  nations  who  could  not  reply  to  that  logic. 
If  the  Bible  be  false,  the  facility  with  which  it  overleaps  the 
otherwise  impassable  boundaries  of  race  and  clime,  and 
domiciliates  itself  among  so  many  different  nations,  is  as 
suredly  a  far  more  striking  and  wonderful  proof  of  human 
ignorance,  perverseness,  and  stupidity,  than  is  afforded  in 
the  limited  prevalence  of  even  the  most  abject  superstitions  ; 
or  if  it  really  has  merits  which,  though  a  fable,  have  ena 
bled  it  to  impose  so  comprehensively  and  variously  on  man 
kind,  wonderful  indeed  must  have  been  the  skill  in  its  com 
position  ;  so  wonderful  that  even  the  infidel  himself  ought 
never  to  regard  it  but  with  the  profoundest  reverence,  as 
far  too  successful  and  sublime  a  fabrication  to  admit  a 
thought  of  scoff  or  ridicule.  In  his  last  illness,  a  few  days 
before  his  death,  Sir  Walter  Scott  asked  Mr.  Lockhait  to  read 
to  him.  Mr.  Lockhart  inquired  what  book  he  would  like. 
"  Can  you  ask  ?  "  said  Sir  Walter,  —  "  there  is  but  ONE  "  : 
and  requested  him  to  read  a  chapter  of  the  Gospel  of  John. 
When  will  an  equal  genius,  to  whom  all  the  realms  of  fiction 
are  as  familiar  as  to  him,  say  the  like  of  some  professed 
revelation,  originating  among  a  race  and  associated  with  a 
24 


278  THE   VANITY   AND   GLORY   OF   LITERATURE. 

history  and  a  clime  as  foreign  as  those  connected  with  the 
birthplace  of  the  Bible  from  those  of  the  ancestry  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott  ?  Can  we  by  any  stretch  of  imagination  sup 
pose  some  Walter  Scott  of  a  new  race,  in  Australia  or  South 
Africa,  saying  the  same  of  the  Vedas  or  the  Koran  ? 

While  so  large  a  portion  of  merely  human  literature,  like 
all  things  else  that  are  human,  is  inscribed  with  "  vanity," 
it  has  its  "  excelling  glory  "  too. 

Soberly  considered,  indeed,  the  writer  has  enough  to  make 
him  contented  with  his  vocation,  though  not  proud  of  it. 
The  value  of  books  does  not  depend  upon  their  durability  ; 
nor  in  truth  is  there  any  reason,  why  the  philosopher  should 
be  more  solicitous  about  these  wasted  and  wasting  treasures 
of  mind,  than  about  the  death  of  men,  or  the  decay  of  the 
cities  they  have  built,  or  of  the  empires  they  have  founded  ! 
They  but  follow  the  same  law  which  is  imposed  on  all  things 
human,  and  on  things  which  were  created  before  man.  Ge 
ologists  tell  us  of  vast  intervals  of  time  —  myriads  of  years 
—  passed  in  the  tardy  revolutions  by  which  our  earth  was 
prepared  for  our  habitation,  and  during  which  successive  gen 
erations  of  animals  and  vegetables  flourished  and  became 
extinct ;  the  individuals  always,  and  often  the  species  ;  —  the 
term  of  life  allotted  to  them,  and  their  place  in  the  system, 
being  exactly  appropriate  to  the  stage  in  the  history  of  the 
world's  development,  and  linked,  in  a  law  of  subserviency, 
to  the  successive  parts  and  the  various  phases  of  one  vast 
continuous  process.  Though  permitted  and  organized  to 
enjoy  their  brief  term  of  life,  they  were  chiefly  important  as 
a  stepping-stone  to  the  future,  and  as  influencing  that  future, 
not  by  forming  part  of  it,  but  by  having  been  a  necessary 
condition  of  its  arrival.  The  same  law  which  seems  to  be 
that  of  the  whole  history  of  the  geological  eras,  appears  also 
to  characterize  our  own  ;  the  present  passes  away,  but  is 
made  subservient  to  a  glorious  future.  As  these  geological 
periods  were  preparatory  to  the  introduction  of  the  human 
economy,  so  the  various  eras  of  that  economy  itself  are  sub- 


THE   VANITY   AND   GLORY   OF   LITERATURE.  279 

ordinated  to  its  ultimate  and  perfect  development.  Individu 
als  and  nations  perish,  but  the  progress  of  humanity  is  contin 
ued  ;  and  in  this  persuasion,  the  author  who  has  in  any  tolera 
ble  measure  endeavored  conscientiously  "  to  serve  his  gen 
eration,"  —  awaking  from  his  idle  dreams  of  immortality, — 
must  find,  like  every  other  man  who  has  done  the  same  in 
other  ways,  his  grounds  of  resignation  and  consolation.  It  is 
pleasing,  with  the  elder  Pliny,  whose  judgment  is  sanctioned 
by  Leibnitz  and  Gibbon,  to  believe  that  scarcely  any  book 
was  ever  written  (not  positively  immoral)  which  did  not  con 
tain  something  valuable  ;  *  some  contribution,  however  small, 
to  the  general  stock  of  human  knowledge,  and  still  preserved, 
in  other  forms,  for  succeeding  ages,  though  the  book  itself, 
like  its  author,  had  become  food  for  worms ;  or  something 
which  tended  to  mould  and  influence  some  contemporary 
mind  destined  to  act  with  greater  power  on  distant  genera 
tions.  The  whole  gigantic  growth  of  human  knowledge  and 
science  may  be  compared  to  those  deposits  which  geologists 
describe,  full  of  the  remains  of  vegetable  and  animal  life,  — 
beautiful  once,  and  beneficial  still.  The  luxuriant  foliage 
and  huge  forest  growth  of  science  and  literature  which  now 
overshadow  us,  are  themselves  rooted  in  strata  of  decaying 
or  decayed  mind,  and  derive  their  nourishment  from  them  ; 
the  very  soil  we  turn  is  the  loose  detritus  of  thought,  washed 
down  to  us  through  long  ages.  In  the  world  of  intellect,  as 
in  the  world  of  matter,  though  "  vanity "  is  written  on  all 
things,  and  oblivion  awaits  man  and  his  achievements,  yet  is 
it  also  sublimely  true,  that  in  both  alike  Death  is  itself  the 
germ  of  life  ;  and  new  forms  of  glory  and  beauty  spring 
from  the  dust  of  desolation. 

Nor  are  there  wanting  more  special  topics  from  which  the 
repining  author  may  derive  consolation.  One  is,  that,  as  the 
number  of  readers  will  be  perpetually  increased,  though  it 
may  be  true  that  the  knowledge  of  any  one  of  them  will  bear 

*  "Nullum  esse  librum  tarn  malum  ut  non  ex  aliqu&  parte  prodesset." 


280      THE  VANITY  AND  GLORY  OF  LITERATURE. 

an  ever-diminishing  ratio  to  the  absolute  ^accumulations  of 
human  science  and  literature,  far  more  of  both  will  be  pre 
served  in  the  memories  of  mankind  collectively ;  and  each 
writer,  worthy  to  live  at  all,  will  find,  not  indeed  temples 
thronged  by  admiring  worshippers,  and  altars  steaming  with 
sacrifices,  but  at  all  events  a  little  oratory  here  and  there, 
where  some  solitary  devotee  will  be  paying  his  homage.  He 
cannot  hope  to  be  a  Jupiter  Capitolinus  ;  but  he  may  be  the 
household  god  of  some  quiet  hearth,  and  receive  there  his 
modest  oblation  and  his  pinch  of  daily  incense. 

A  still  further  consolation  remains  for  even  those  who  dare 
not  hope  for  so  much  as  this  species  of  obscure  fame.  If 
not  preserved  entire,  they  will  yet  be  remembered  by  frag 
ments  ;  in  volumes  of  specimens  and  extracts,  or,  happier 
still !  embalmed  in  those  vast  works  which  will  consign  to 
posterity  the  history  of  great  nations  ;  with  the  whole  story 
of  their  political,  social,  and  intellectual  development.  How 
many  authors,  else  utterly  forgotten,  will  leave  minute  relics 
of  themselves  in  the  notes  and  citations  of  such  works  as 
those  of  Gibbon  and  Macaulay  !  It  is  but  a  plank  from  the 
wreck,  to  be  sure  ;  but  it  is  something. 

Nor  do  the  fond  author's  hopes  end  here.  We  have  com 
pared  the  vast  relics  of  decayed  and  mouldering  literature 
to  the  animal  and  vegetable  remains  on  which  our  living 
world  flourishes  ;  in  which  it  fastens  its  roots,  and  over  which 
it  waves  its  luxuriance.  A  fanciful  mind  might  pursue  the 
analogy  a  little  further,  and  discern  some  resemblance  be 
tween  the  mutations  and  revolutions  of  literature  and  books, 
and  those  incomparably  greater,  and  yet,  to  us,  scarcely  more 
interesting,  changes  which  have  swept  over  the  surface  of 
the  material  world.  Geologists  tell  us  of  the  successive  sub 
mersion  and  elevation  of  vast  tracts  of  earth,  —  now  rich  in 
animal  and  vegetable  life,  —  then  buried  for  unnumbered 
ages  in  oblivion,  —  then  again  reappearing  to  the  light  of  day, 
and  bearing,  dank  and  dripping  from  the  ocean  bed,  the  me 
morials  of  their  past  glories.  It  is  much  the  same  with  the 


THE  VANITY  AND  GLORY  OF  LITERATURE.      281 

treasures  of  buried  literature.  Long  whelmed  beneath  the 
inundations  of  barbarism,  or  buried  in  the  volcanic  eruptions 
of  war  and  conquest,  we  see  them,  after  centuries  of  "  cold 
obstruction,"  once  more  coming  to  light ;  —  the  fossil  remains 
of  ancient  life  ;  —  forms  of  power,  of  beauty,  or  deformity  ; 
—  characterized  indeed  by  many  analogies  to  the  present 
species  of  organized  life,  but  also  by  many  differences. 

The  revival  of  classical  literature,  after  the  dark  ages,  was 
the  greatest  and  most  splendid  of  these  recoveries  of  the 
past ;  and  must  have  awakened  in  the  minds  of  the  genera 
tion  which  witnessed  it,  emotions  very  similar  to  those  with 
which  men  gazed  on  the  treasures  of  Herculaneum  and 
Pompeii,  when  those  ancient  cities  were  first  opened  to  the 
day. 

Though  this  is  the  grandest  of  all  such  restorations,  let  the 
author  remember  for  his  comfort  (if  not  too  bashful),  that  a 
similar  process  is  perpetually  going  on,  though  on  a  smaller 
scale.  Discussions  and  controversies,  which  had  been  hushed 
for  ages,  break  out  again,  like  long  silent  volcanoes ;  men 
turn  with  renewed  eagerness  to  the  opinions  of  persons  who 
had  been  forgotten  apparently  for  ever ;  and  names  which 
had  not  been  heard  for  centuries,  once  more  fill  men's  mouths 
and  are  trumpeted  to  the  four  winds.  A  pleasantly  oracular 
saying,  or  a  half-anticipation  of  some  newly  discovered  truth, 
is  found  in  the  voluminous  writings  of  an  ancient  author, 
and  excites  a  passing  glow  of  veneration  to  his  name  and 
works.  In  the  indefatigable  grubbings  and  gropings  of  the 
literary  antiquary,  again,  scarcely  any  authors  need  despair 
of  an  occasional  remembrance  ;  of  producing  some  curiosi 
ties  for  those  cabinets  where  the  most  precious  and  the  most 
worthless  of  relics  are  preserved  with  impartial  veneration. 
It  is  hard  to  say  what  his  spade  and  mattock  may  not  bring 
up.  What  honor  to  furnish  to  the  Cuviers  of  critical  science, 
though  but  in  a  fossil  bone  or  shell,  a  theme  for  their  conjec 
tures  and  learned  dissertations  ;  and  perhaps  be  even  con 
structed  into  a  more  magnificent  creature  than  nature  ever 

24* 


282      THE  VANITY  AND  GLORY  OF  LITERATURE. 

made  the  original !  Who  could  have  hoped,  a  few  years 
back,  to  see  the  reappearance  of  so  much  of  our  early 
literature  as  we  have  recently  witnessed  ?  And  who  could 
have  anticipated  how  wide  a  range  the  transient,  but,  while 
they  last,  most  active,  fashions  of  literary  research  would 
take  ?  Now  it  is  Saxon,  Danish,  Norman  antiquities  ;  —  now 
local  traditions,  and  old  songs  and  ballads ;  —  now  the  old 
dramatists  have  their  turn,  and  now  the  old  divines.  Who 
could  have  expected  to  see  the  venerable  Bede's  "  opera 
omnia"  in  English  as  well  as  Latin,  published  in  all  the 
glories  of  modern  typography  ?  "  It  is  hard  to  say,"  says 
Sir  Thomas  Browne,  speaking  of  our  bodies,  "  how  often  we 
are  to  be  buried  "  :  the  same  may  be  said  of  our  minds  ;  and 
though  this  successive  resurrection  and  entombment  is  not 
immortality,  it  bears  a  close  resemblance  to  transmigration. 
It  is  true  that  a  malicious  wit  might  hint  that  not  a  little  of 
this  exhumed  literature  is  immediately  recommitted  to  the 
dust,  and  that  its  resurrection  is  but  for  a  second  celebration 
of  its  obsequies.  He  will  be  inclined  to  say  what  Horace 
Walpole  says  of  some  other  antiquarian  recoveries  :  "  What 
signifies  raising  the  dead  so  often,  when  they  die  the  next 
minute  ?  " 

How  singular  has  been  the  destiny  of  Aristotle  !  After 
having  been  lost  to  the  world  for  ages,  we  see  him  making  a 
second  and  wider  conquest,  and  founding  the  most  durable 
and  absolute  despotism  of  mind  the  world  has  ever  seen  ! 
After  a  second  dethronement,  he  is  now  fighting  his  way 
back  to  no  mean  empire,  —  an  empire  promising  to  be  all 
the  more  permanent,  that  it  is  founded  in  a  juster  estimate  of 
his  real  claims  on  the  gratitude  and  reverence  of  mankind, 
and  that  he  is  invited  to  wield  the  sceptre,  not  of  a  despot, 
but  of  a  constitutional  monarch. 

But  our  author  sighs,  and  says  with  truth  and  naivete, 
"  There  are  so  few  Aristotles  !  "  We  reply,  with  a  persever 
ance  in  suggesting  consolation  worthy  of  Boethius  or  Mr. 
Shandy,  that,  supposing  none  of  these  sedatives  sufficient  to 


THE   VANITY   AND   GLORY   OF    LITERATURE.  283 

soothe  wounded  vanity,  there  are  still  others.  And  among 
them,  assuredly  not  the  least  are  those  least  thought  of ;  we 
mean,  the  pleasures  of  composition  itself ;  perhaps,  after  all, 
the  greatest  of  an  author's  rewards  :  just  as,  in  so  many  other 
cases,  happiness  is  found,  not  in  the  object  we  professedly 
seek,  but  in  the  efforts  to  obtain  it,  and  in  the  energetic  em 
ployment  of  our  faculties.  If,  indeed,  the  experience  of 
Buffon  were  that  of  authors  in  general,  none  would  deny  this, 
and  the  passion  for  writing  would  become  a  universal  mad 
ness.  Speaking  of  the  hours  of  composition,  he  says :  "  These 
are  the  most  luxurious  and  delightful  moments  of  life ;  which 
have  often  enticed  me  to  pass  fourteen  hours  a  day  at  my 
desk,  in  a  state  of  transport ;  this  gratification,  more  than 
glory,  is  my  reward."  *  But  we  fear  that  there  are  not  a 
few  writers,  and  of  no  mean  fame,  who,  while  conceding  that 
when  their  minds  wrought  freely,  and  their  faculties  lay  in 
sunshine,  the  moments  of  composition  were  among  the  hap 
piest  of  their  life,  would  also  affirm  that  those  in  which  they 
have  had  to  struggle  against  the  vis  inertia  which  prevented 
them  from  commencing  their  task,  or  to  contend  with  half- 
formed  conceptions  and  intractable  expressions,  till  the  sun 
broke  through  the  mist,  and  thought  became  clear  and  words 
obedient,  were  among  the  most  painful.  Well  spoke  one  who 
has,  we  apprehend,  experienced  all  the  raptures  and  all  the 
agonies  of  composition :  — 

"  When  happiest  Fancy  has  inspired  the  strains, 
How  oft  the  malice  of  one  luckless  word 
Pursues  the  enthusiast  to  the  social  board, 
Haunts  him,  belated,  on  the  silent  plains. 
Yet  he  repines  not,  if  his  thought  stand  clear, 
At  last,  of  hinderance  and  obscurity, 
Fresh  as  the  star  that  crowns  the  brow  of  morn." 

We  are  inclined  to  place  the  pleasure  of  writing  itself, 

*  Cited  in  "  Curiosities  of  Literature."     See  the  whole  of  the  amusing 
anecdotes  on  Literary  Composition. 


284  THE   VANITY   AND   GLORY   OF   LITERATURE. 

among  the  chief  incentives  of  authorship ;  and  the  proof  is 
found  in  this,  that  so  few  ever  stop  when  they  have  once  be 
gun,  —  not  even  for  neglect  or  poverty.  "  There  are  millions 
of  men,"  says  Byron,  "  who  have  never  written  a  book,  but 
few  who  have  written  only  one"  And  Walter  Scott's  testi 
mony  to  the  inveteracy  of  the  cacoethes  scribendi  is  equally 
strong.  Not  even  the  ointment  of  sarcasm  and  satire  can 
cure  it. 

Perhaps  even  this  will  not  be  taken  as  sufficient  compensa 
tion  :  why  then  let  the  author  remember,  that,  in  the  only  in 
telligible  sense,  he  enjoys  almost  as  extensive  a  fame  as  his 
betters.  There  is  a  little  circle  of  which  each  man  is  the 
centre ;  and  this  narrow  theatre  is  generally  enough  for  the 
accommodating  vanity  of  the  human  heart.  Indeed,  it  is  of 
that  microcosm  in  which  each  man  dwells,  that  even  the  lof 
tiest  ambition  is  really  thinking,  when  it  whispers  to  itself 
some  folly  about  distant  regions  and  remote  ages,  whose 
plaudits  will  never  greet  his  ear,  and  which  he  utterly  fails  to 
realize.  It  is,  after  all,  the  applause  of  the  familiar  friends, 
among  whom  he  daily  lives,  that  he  craves  and  loves.  It  may 
be  doubted  whether  Musaus  was  ever  so  delighted  with  the 
thought  of  posthumous  renown,  as  he  was  when  his  little  boy, 
discovering  from  an  upstairs  window  a  fresh  troop  of  visitors 
coming,  as  the  child  supposed,  with  the  usual  offering  of 
congratulations  on  his  father's  sudden  success,  cried  out, 
41  Here  are  more  people  coming  to  praise  papa !  " 

Should  our  friends  and  family  form  too  small  a  sphere  for 
the  vaulting  ambition  of  self-love,  we  must  needs  content, 
ourselves  with  the  questionable  comfort  suggested  in  the  case 
of  our  literal  death,  not  only  by  Cicero  and  his  imitator,  Mr. 
Shandy,  but  by  all  other  consolers,  from  the  time  of  Job's 
comforters  downwards  ;  —  that  it  is  the  "  common  lot,"  and 
that  "  what  is  the  doom  of  our  betters  is  good  enough  for  us." 
Nor  will  vanity  fail  to  whisper  :  "  Not  the  worthless  alone  are 
forgotten,  —  gold,  silver,  pearls,  and  jewels  strew  the  bottom 
of  the  ocean.  It  is  not  the  will  of  man,  but  the  law  of  nature, 
that  I  should  die." 


'  THE    VANITY   AND   GLORY    OF    LITERATURE.  285 

In  truth,  for  an  honest  man,  the  single  sentence  already 
quoted  from  Pliny  will  be  consolation  enough.  Like  every 
other  honest  mart  who  does  his  duty  to  the  present  hour,  and 
who  dreams  not  of  asking  immortality  for  his  merits,  it  will 
be  sufficient  to  the  writer,  to  have  "  served  his  generation." 
Nor  need  we  say,  in  how  important  a  degree  each  individual 
has  done  this !  It  is  a  topic  easily  improved  upon,  by  the 
happy  facility  of  human  vanity ;  for  all  are  ready  enough  to 
believe,  —  and  certainly  authors  as  much  as  any,  —  that  they 
have  not  trifled  life  away  ^  and  to  think  of  their  doings 
much  as  Uncle  Toby  did  of  his  mimic  fortifications  :  "  Heav 
en  is  my  witness,  brother  Shandy,  that  the  pleasure  I  have 
taken  in  these  things,  and  that  infinite  delight  in  particular, 
which  has  attended  my  sieges  in  my  bowling-green,  has  arose 
within  me,  and  I  hope  in  the  Corporal  too,  from  the  con 
sciousness  we  both  had,  that  in  carrying  them  on  we  were 
answering  the  great  ends  of  our  creation." 

But,  without  a  gibe,  the  destiny  of  the  honest  writer,  even 
though  but  moderately  successful,  and  much  more  if  long 
and  widely  popular,  is  surely  glorious  and  enviable.  It  may 
be  true  that  he  is  to  die,  —  for  we  do  not  count  the  record  of 
a  name  when  the  works  are  no  longer  read  as  any  thing  bet 
ter  than  an  epitaph,  and  even  that  may  vanish ;  yet  to  come 
into  contact  with  other  minds,  even  though  for  limited  peri 
ods, —  to  move  them  by  a  silent  influence,  —  to  cooperate 
in  the  construction  of  character,  —  to  mould  the  habits  of 
thought,  —  to  promote  the  dominion  of  truth  and  virtue, — 
to  exercise  a  spell  over  those  one  has  never  seen  and  never 
can  see,  —  in  other  climes,  —  at  the  extremity  of  the  globe, 
—  and  when  the  hand  that  wrote  is  still  for  ever,  —  is  surely 
a  most  wonderful  and  even  awful  prerogative.  It  comes  near 
er  to  the  idea  of  the  immediate  influence  of  spirit  on  spirit, 
than  any  thing  else  with  which  this  world  presents  us.  It  is 
of  a  purely  moral  nature  ;  it  is  also  silent  as  the  dew,  —  in 
visible  as  the  wind  !  We  can  adequately  conceive  of  such 
an  influence  only  by  imagining  ourselves,  under  the  privilege 


THE    VANITY   AND   GLORY    OF   LITERATURE. 


of  the  ring  of  Gyges,  to  gaze,  invisible,  on  the  solitary  reader 
as  he  pores  over  a  favorite  author,  and  watch  in  his  counte 
nance,  as  in  a  mirror,  the  reflection  of  the  page  which  holds 
him  captive  ;  now  knitting  his  brow  over  a  difficult  argument, 
and  deriving  at  once  discipline  and  knowledge  by  the  effort, 
—  now  relaxing  into  smiles  at  wit  and  humor,  —  now  dwelling 
with  a  glistening  eye  on  tenderness  and  pathos, —  and,  in 
either  case,  the  subject  of  emotions  which  not  only  constitute 
the  mood  of  the  moment,  but  in  their  measure  cooperate  to 
the  formation  of  those  habits  which  issue  in  character  and 
conduct ;  now  yielding  up  some  fond  illusion  to  the  force  of 
truth,  and  anon  betrayed  into  another  by  the  force  of  sophis 
try  ;  now  rebuked  for  some  vice  or  folly,  and  binding  himself 
with  renewed  vows  to  the  service  of  virtue  ;  and  now  sym 
pathizing  with  the  too  faithful  delineation  of  vicious  passions 
and  depraved  pleasures,  and  strengthening  by  one  more  rivet 
the  dominion  of  evil  over  the  soul !  Surely,  to  be  able  to 
wield  such  a  power  as  this  implies,  in  any  degree  and  for 
limited  periods,  is  a  stupendous  attribute  ;  one  which,  if  more 
deeply  pondered,  would  frequently  cause  a  writer  to  pause 
and  tremble,  as  though  his  pen  had  been  the  rod  of  an  en 
chanter. 

Happy  those  who  have  wielded  it  well,  and  who, 

"  Dying,  leave  no  line  they  wish  to  blot." 

Happier,  far  happier  such,  in  the  prospect  of  speedy  extinc 
tion,  than  those  whose  loftier  genius  promises  immortality  of 
fame,  and  whose  abuse  of  it  renders  that  immortality  a  curse. 
Melancholy  indeed  is  the  lot  of  all,  whose  high  endowments 
have  been  worse  than  wasted  ;  who  have  left  to  that  world 
which  they  were  born  to  bless,  only  a  legacy  of  shame  and 
sorrow  ;  whose  vices  and  follies,  unlike  those  of  other  men, 
are  not  permitted  to  die  with  them,  but  continue  active  for 
evil  after  the  men  themselves  are  dust. 

It  becomes  every  one  who  aspires  to  be  a  writer  to  remem 
ber  this.     The  ill  which  other  men  do,  for  the  most  part  dies 


THE    VANITY   AND   GLORY   OF   LITERATURE.  287 

with  them.  Not,  indeed,  that  this  is  literally  true,  even  of 
the  obscurest  of  the  species.  We  are  all  but  links  in  a  vast 
chain  which  stretches  from  the  dawn  of  time  to  the  consum 
mation  of  all  things,  and  unconsciously  receive  and  transmit 
a  subtle  influence.  As  we  are,  in  a  great  measure,  what  our 
forefathers  made  us,  so  our  posterity  will  be  what  we  make 
them ;  and  it  is  a  thought  which  may  well  make  us  both 
proud  and  afraid  of  our  destiny. 

But  such  truths,  though  universally  applicable,  are  more 
worthy  of  being  pondered  by  great  authors  than  by  any  other 
class  of  men.  These  outlive  their  age  ;  and  their  thoughts 
continue  to  operate  immediately  on  the  spirit  of  their  race. 
How  sad,  to  one  who  feels  that  he  has  abused  his  high  trust, 
to  know  that  he  is  to  perpetuate  his  vices ;  that  he  has  spoken 
a  spell  for  evil,  and  cannot  unsay  it;  .that  the  poisoned  shaft 
has  left  the  bow,  and  cannot  be  recalled !  If  we  might  be  per 
mitted  to  imagine  for  a  moment  that  it  is  a  part  of  the  reward 
or  punishment  of  departed  spirits,  to  revisit  this  lower  world 
and  to  trace  the  good  or  evil  consequences  of  their  actions, 
what  more  deplorable  condition  can  be  conceived  than  that  of 
a  great  but  misguided  genius,  taught,  before  he  departed,  the 
folly  of  his  course,  and  condemned  to  witness  its  effects  without 
the  power  of  arresting  them  ?  How  would  he  sigh  for  that  day 
which  shall  cover  his  fame  with  a  welcome  cloud,  and  bury 
him  in  the  once  dreaded  oblivion  !  How  would  he  covet  as 
the  highest  boon  the  loss  of  that  immortality  for  which  he  toiled 
so  much  and  so  long !  With  what  feelings  would  he  see  the 
productions  of  his  wit  and  fancy,  proscribed  and  loathed  by 
every  man  whose  love  and  veneration  are  worth  possessing  ! 
With  what  anguish  would  he  see  the  subtle  poison  he  had 
distilled  take  hold  of  innocence  ;  watch  the  first  blushes  of 
still  ingenuous  shame,  see  them  fade  away  from  the  cheek 
as  evil  became  familiar,  trace  in  his  influence  the  initial 
movements  in  that  long  career  of  agony  and  remorse  and 
shame  which  awaits  his  victims ;  and  shudder  to  think  that 
those  whose  faith  he  has  destroyed,  or  whose  morals  he  has 


THE    VANITY   AND   GLORY   OF    LITERATURE. 

corrupted,  may  find  him  out  in  the  world  of  spirits,  to  tax 
him  as  their  seducer  to  infamy  and  crime  !  * 

Even  such  authors,  however,  will  reach  the  oblivion  they 
have  desired,  at  last ;  for  this  must  be  the  ultimate  doom 
(whatever  might  otherwise  have  been  the  case)  of  all  who 
have  set  at  defiance  the  maxims  of  decency,  morality,  and 
religion,  —  however  bright  their  genius,  and  however  vast 
their  powers.  As  the  world  grows  older,  and,  we  trust,  better, 
—  as  it  approximates  to  that  state  of  religious  and  moral  ele 
vation  which  Christianity  warrants  us  to  anticipate,  many  a 
production  which  a  licentious  age  has  pardoned  for  its  genius, 
will  be  thrown  aside  in  spite 'of  it.  In  that  day,  if  genius 
rebelliously  refuse,  as  it  assuredly  will  not,  —  for  the  highest 
genius  has  not  even  hitherto  refused,  —  to  consecrate  itself 
to  goodness,  the  world  will  rather  turn  to  the  humblest  pro 
ductions  which  are  instinct  with  virtue,  than  to  the  fairest 
works  of  genius  when  polluted  by  vice.  In  a  word,  the 
long  idolatry  of  intellect  which  has  enslaved  the  world  will  be 
broken ;  and  that  world  will  perceive  that,  bright  as  genius 
may  be,  virtue  is  brighter  still. 

Happy  the  writers  who,  if  destined  to  live  so  long,  have, 
with  souls  prophetic  of  the  great  change,  and  true  to  the  dic 
tates  of  morality  and  religion,  never  written  a  line  but  what 
after  ages  may  gratefully  turn  to  for  solid  instruction  or  in- 

*  To  see  this  matter  in  its  true  light  must,  we  fear,  be  left  to  the  more 
nnclouded  vision  of  another  world.  Literary  vanity  is  almost  the  last 
foible  that  is  surrendered  in  this.  There  is  much  knowledge  of  human 
nature,  as  well  as  keen  satire,  in  the  tale  which  Addison  tells  of  the  athe 
ist,  who,  bewailing  on  his  death-bed  the  mischief  his  works  would  do  after 
he  was  gone,  quickly  repented  of  his  repentance,  when  his  spiritual  ad 
viser  unhappily  sought  to  alleviate  his  grief  by  assuring  him  that  his 
arguments  were  so  weak,  and  his  writings  so  little  known,  that  he  need 
not  be  under  any  apprehensions.  "  The  dying  man  had  still  so  much  of 
the  frailty  of  an  author  in  him,  as  to  be  cut  to  the  heart  with  these  con 
solations  ;  and,  without  answering  the  good  man,  asked  his  friends  where 
they  had  picked  up  such  a  blockhead  ?  and  whether  they  thought  him  a 
proper  person  to  attend  one  in  his  condition  ?  " 


THE    VANITY    AND   GLORY    OF    LITERATURE.  289 

nocent  delight ;  and  happy,  also,  all  who,  though  not  destined 
to  see  those  distant  times,  have  in  any  measure  contributed  to 
form  and  hasten  them  ! 

Plato,  in  a  well-known  passage  of  his  Phgedrus,  describes 
Socrates  as  contending  for  the  superiority  of  oral  instruction, 
by  representing  books  as  silent.  The  inferiority  of  the  writ 
ten  word  to  the  living  voice  is  in  many  respects  undeniable  ; 
but  surely  it  is  more  than  compensated  by  the  advantage  of  its 
diffusive  and  permanent  character.  Great  as  has  been  the 
influence  of  Socrates,  he  owes  it  almost  entirely  to  the  books 
he  refused  to  write !  and  it  might  have  been  greater  still,  had 
he  condescended  to  write  some  of  his  own. 

But  the  chief  glory  of  all  human  literature  —  taking  it 
collectively  —  is,  that  it  is  our  pledge  and  security  against 
the  retrogradation  of  humanity ;  the  effectual  breakwater 
against  barbarism  ;  the  ratchet  in  the  great  wheel  of  the 
world,  which,  even  if  it  stand  still,  prevents  it  from  slipping 
back.  Ephemeral  as  man's  books  are,  they  are  at  least  not 
so  ephemeral  as  himself;  and  consign  without  difficulty  to 
posterity  what  would  otherwise  never  reach  them.  A  good 
book  is  the  Methuselah  of  these  latter  ages. 

We  must  conclude,  however,  lest  we  should  have  reason 
to  apply  to  ourselves  the  words  of  old  Fuller  :  "  But  what  do 
I,  speaking  against  multiplicity  of  books  in  this  age,  who  tres 
pass  in  this  nature  myself  ?  What  was  a  learned  man's  com 
pliment,  may  serve  for  my  confession  and  conclusion.  Mul- 
ti  mei  similes  hoc  morbo  labor  ant  —  ut  cum  scribere  nesciant, 
tamen  a  scribendo  temperare  non  possint."  —  Even  as  it  is, 
we  fear  that  some  of  our  readers  will  be  disposed-  to  say  that 
we  have  illustrated  the  "  vanity,"  without  proving  the  "  glo 
ry,"  of  literature. 


25 


RIGHT  OF  PRIVATE  JUDGMENT.* 


THE  metempsychosis  of  error  is  a  curious  phenomenon. 
Though  not  immortal,  it  transmigrates  through  many  modes 
of  being  before  it  is  finally  destroyed.  Apparently  dead, 
buried,  rotten,  —  consigned  to  dust  and  darkness  so  long  ago, 
that  the  very  volumes  in  which  it  lies  entombed  are  worm- 
eaten,  and  the  controversies  in  which  it  seemingly  perished 
no  longer  read,  it  often  breathes  and  lives  again  after  the 
lapse  of  centuries,  and  "  revisits  the  .glimpses  of  the  moon  "  ; 
—  not  usually,  it  is  true,  in  the  very  form  in  which  it  disap 
peared,  —  in  that  it  would  not  be  lightly  tolerated  again,  — 
but  in  a  shape  adapted  to  new  times  and  circumstances  ; 
with  an  organization,  so  to  speak,  which  qualifies  it  to  exist 
in  a  different  element  of  thought  and  feeling.  The  chrys 
alis  becomes  perhaps  a  gaudy  butterfly,  misleading  into  a 
foolish  chase  thousands  of  those  overgrown  boys  of  the  hu 
man  family,  who,  it  may  be,  would  have  despised  it  in  its 
original  deformity. 

At  this  none  need  wonder  ;  for  if  error  passes  through 
many  changes,  it  is  because  human  nature  is  still  the  same. 

*  «  Edinburgh  Review,"  January,  1843. 

1.  Memoire  en  Faveur  de  la  Liberte  des    Cultes.    Par  ALEXANDRE 
VINET.     8vo.     a  Paris.     1828. 

2.  The  Articles  treated  on  in  Tract  XC.  reconsidered,  and  their  Interpre 
tation  vindicated ;  in  a  Letter  to  the  Rev.  R.  W.  Jelf,  D.  Z).,  Canon  of  Christ 
Church.    By  the  Rev.  E.  B.  PUSEY,  D.  D.    8vo.    Oxford.     1841. 


RIGHT    OF    PRIVATE    JUDGMENT. 

In  every  successive  age  are  reproduced  minds  with  all  the 
tendencies  which  have  characterized  those  of  the  past ;  with 
the  same  affinities  for  special  classes  of  error,  or  the  same 
disposition  to  exaggerate  and  distort  truth  itself  into  substan 
tial  falsehood.  Such  minds  may  be,  and  usually  are,  modi 
fied  by  the  age  in  which  they  live,  the  education  to  which 
they  have  been  subjected,  the  circumstances  under  which 
they  have  been  developed  ;  but  they  exist,  and  with  an  idio 
syncrasy  so  marked,  that,  even  if  they  have  never  been  stim 
ulated  by  a  knowledge  of  the  theories  of  those  who  have 
erred,  and  been  confuted  before  them,  they  often  exhibit  an 
invincible  tendency  to  similar  extravagances.  What  Thucyd- 
ides  has  said  of  the  parallelisms  which  may  be  perpetually 
expected  in  political  history,  is  just  as  applicable  to  the  his 
tory  of  opinions  :  —  yiyvopcpa  pev  KOI  ael  eVo'/iera  eW  av  f)  avTrj 
<j)v(ris  dv6pa>7rtov  77,  p.SX\ov  Se,  KOL  ^cru^curepa,  Kai  rots  eiSe<ri  Si^XAa- 

•ypeva Yet  is  there  reason  to  hope  well  of  the  ultimate 

destinies  of  our  race  ;  and  to  believe  that  the  progress 
towards  the  final  triumph  of  Truth  and  Right  is  steady  and 
certain,  in  spite  of  the  alternate  flux  and  reflux  of  the  tide. 

The  remarks  just  made  on  the  resuscitation  of  ancient 
error  at  distant  intervals,  and  in  new  forms,  have  been  sig 
nally  illustrated  in  that  great  controversy,  or  rather  compli 
cation  of  controversies,  to  which  the  discussion  of  what  are 
called  "  High-Church  Principles  "  has  recently  given  rise  ; 
and  to  none  of  the  antique  novelties  (if  we  may  use  such  an 
expression)  commended  to  us  by  the  advocates  of  those 
principles  are  they  more  applicable,  than  to  the  doctrines 
recently  propounded  by  one  and  another  of  them  on  the 
subject  of  the  "  Right  of  Private  Judgment."  Of  all  the 
peculiarities  of  this  modern-antique  School,  none,  in  our  opin 
ion,  is  of  graver  import  or  of  darker  omen,  than  its  opposi 
tion,  more  or  less  disguised,  to  this  great  principle. 

Few,  in  the  present  day,  would  seek  the  restoration  of  the 
brutal,  or  rather  diabolical,  laws  of  ancient  persecution,  any 
more  than  they  would,  even  if  the  choice  were  given  them, 


RIGHT    OF    PRIVATE    JUDGMENT. 

breathe  life  into  the  bones  of  a  Gardiner  or  a  Bonner.  To 
take  those  laws  expressly  under  protection,  in  defiance  both 
of  reason  and  experience  ;  in  defiance  of  the  arguments  of 
such  men  as  Taylor,  Chillingworth,  Bayle,  Locke,  and  others 
scarcely  less  illustrious,  and  of  the  .terrible  condemnation  sup 
plied  in  the  records  of  persecution  itself,  were  the  sheerest 
insanity.  Whatever  some  may  secretly  wish,  not  only  are 
hanging  and  burning  for  religious  opinions  abolished  ;  but 
even  the  more  "  moderate  forms  "  of  persecution,  as  our 
ancestors  facetiously  called  them,  and  which  its  sturdier  ad 
vocates  despised  as  poor,  peddling  arts,  —  the  thumbscrew, 
branding,  the  pillory,  incarceration,  banishment,  —  are  quite 
out  of  date.  Under  these  circumstances,  any  attempts  to 
revive  ancient  error  in  relation  to  the  "  Right  of  Private  Judg 
ment  "  must  be  very  cautious  ;  and  such,  with  some  excep 
tions  which  have  equally  moved  our  abhorrence  and  indig 
nation,  we  have  found  them  to  be.  Not  only  would  expedi 
ency  dictate  moderation,  if  the  public  is  to  be  induced  to 
listen  at  all  ;  but  we  trust  that,  in  the  vast  majority  of  in 
stances,  even  amongst  men  who  cherish  the  most  ultra 
u  High-Church  Principles,"  honor  and  conscience  would 
alike  recoil  from  the  employment  of  the  ancient  methods 
under  any  modifications.  How  far,  indeed,  such  men  may 
sympathize  with  the  views  on  which  we  shall  presently  ani 
madvert, —  whether,  though  they  do  not  at  present  avow  it, 
they  may  not,  as  in  other  cases,  have  their  esoteric  doctrine, 
to  which  the  public  is  not  yet  to  be  admitted, —  whether  that 
"  reserve  "  which  they  advocate  "  in  the  communication  of 
religious  truth  "  be  not  operating  here  also,  —  we  have  no 
means  of  judging.  Our  hope  and  belief  is,  that  the  greater 
part  of  those  who  question,  in  one  way  or  another,  the 
"  Right  of  Private  Judgment,1'  would  not  actually  resort  to 
any  of  the  exploded  forms  of  persecution.  At  all  events, 
we  shall  not  believe  they  would,  except  where  they  ex 
pressly  tell  us  so.  We  flatter  ourselves  they  would  not  find 
it  so  easy  to  throw  off  the  spirit  of  their  own  age,  as  to  apol- 


RIGHT    OF    PRIVATE    JUDGMENT.  293 

ogize  for  the  excesses  of  the  past ;  or  to  repress  the  best 
feelings  of  their  hearts,  as  to  quench  the  light  of  their  under 
standings.  We  shall,  accordingly,  bring  no  indefinite  charges 
against  any  body  of  men.  The  particular  modifications  of 
opinion  to  which  we  object  shall  be  referred  to  their  proper 
authors  ;  and  chapter  and  verse  duly  cited  for  the  represen 
tations  we  may  make  of  them.  But  whether  they  may  be 
many  or  few  who  sympathize  with  the  more  reckless  of  the 
modern  Propagandists  of  the  doctrine  of  persecution,  there 
is  no  reason  to  anticipate  that  they  will  be  actually  success 
ful.  They  never  can  be,  until  they  can  convert  the  present 
into  the  past,  or  make  the  wheels  of  time  roll  backward.  It 
does  not  follow,  however,  that  their  attempts  can  be  safely 
neglected  ;  or  that  their  opinions  are  not  sufficiently  danger 
ous  to  justify  severe  animadversion.  Their  intrinsic  falsity, 
absurdity,  and  inconsistency  would  be  ample  warrant  for 
that.  But  when  we  reflect  further,  on  the  tendency  of  such 
opinions  to  confound  and  perplex  the  unthinking,  —  to  foster 
malignity  of  temper, — to  perpetuate  the  remnant  of  intol 
erance  which  still  dwells  amongst  us,  —  to  endear  to  some 
spiteful  minds  the  petty  forms  of  persecution  which  are  still 
within  their  reach,  —  to  make  them  hanker  after  the  forbid 
den  indulgences  of  an  obsolete  cruelty,  —  it  becomes  a  duty 
to  denounce  them.  Nor  is  it  less  incumbent  to  expose  those 
more  plausible,  and  perhaps,  on  that  account,  more  danger 
ous  invasions  of  the  "  Right  of  Private  Judgment,"  which 
would  delude  multitudes  into  the  belief  that,  on  the  authority 
of  fallible  mortals  like  themselves,  they  may  repress  the 
voice  of  conscience,  receive  as  true  things  which  they  do  not 
believe  to  be  so,  and  practise,  as  innocent,  rites  which  they 
deem  forbidden. 

One  would  think  it  very  superfluous  at  this  time  of  day  to 
define  what  is  meant  by  the  "  Right  of  Private  Judgment," 
or  to  guard  these  terms  against  misapprehension.  One  would 
imagine  that  any  mistakes  about  the  phrase,  or  the  mode  in 
which  it  is  usually  understood,  could  not  be  otherwise  than  wil- 
25* 


294  RIGHT    OF    PRIVATE    JUDGMENT. 

ful ;  and,  in  truth,  we  honestly  confess,  it  is  out  of  our  power 
to  regard  them  in  any  other  light.  A  recent  writer,  however, 
has  attempted  to  show,  that  in  the  greater  number  of  cases 
in  which  the  "  Right  of  Private  Judgment  "  would  be  usually 
said  to  be  exercised,  it  is  not  in  fact  exercised  at  all.  Why  ? 
Because  there  is  no  protracted,  deliberate  examination  as  to 
which  is  the  true  religion,  and  a  decision  logically  formed 
accordingly,  —  education,  feeling,  prejudice,  accident,  having 
much  to  do  with  the  judgment  ultimately  expressed  !  Can 
any  thing  be  more  absurd  ?  Does  this  writer  imagine  that 
those  who  contend  for  the  "  Right  of  Private  Judgment " 
mean  that  none  can  actually  exercise  it  but  those  who  have 
first  of  all  certified  themselves,  by  actual  inspection  of  the 
proofs  adduced  in  favor  of  every  religion  that  has  subsisted, 
or  still  subsists,  in  the  world,  that  their  own  is  the  only  true 
one  ?  That  a  man  cannot  be  a  Christian,  consistently  with 
the  exercise  of  his  "  Right  of  Private  Judgment,"  unless  he 
has  examined  and  decided  whether  Hindooism  or  Mahomet- 
anism  may  not  have  equal  claims  ?  Or  (confining  ourselves 
to  Christianity  alone)  that  he  cannot  be  a  Christian,  in  virtue 
of  the  exercise  of  the  "  Right  of  Private  Judgment,"  if  he 
has  not  profoundly  examined  the  wide  question  of  the  Chris 
tian  evidences  ;  or  a  Calvinist  or  Arminian,  unless  he  has 
duly  pondered  the  quinquarticular  controversy  ?  Could  this 
author  be  so  ignorant  as  to  suppose  that  the  advocates  of  the 
right  meant  this  ?  It  is  notorious  that  writers  by  this  phrase 
mean  the  right  of  individually  judging  —  no  matter  what 
the  grounds  of  that  judgment  —  what  is  religious  truth,  and 
what  not ;  not  merely  the  abstract  right  of  every  man 
(though,  it  is  true,  each  has  it)  deliberately  to  examine,  if 
he  has  leisure  and  is  so  inclined,  any  or  all  systems  of  re 
ligion,  and  to  make  selection  of  that  which  he  conscientiously 
deems  the  true  accordingly;  but  the  right  —  in  whatever 
way  he  may  have  arrived  at  his  actual  convictions  of  what 
is  religious  truth  —  to  maintain  and  express  that  conviction,  to 
the  exclusion  of  all  means  beyond  those  of  argument  and 


RIGHT    OF    PRIVATE    JUDGMENT.  295 

persuasion,  to  make  him  think,  or  rather  (for  that  is  impossi 
ble  by  any  except  such  means)  to  make  him  say,  otherwise. 
In  a  word,  whether  the  phrase  be  abstractedly  the  best  that 
could  have  been  employed  or  not,  it  is  chiefly  designed  to 
disallow  the  right  of  forcing  us  to  believe,  or  profess  to  be 
lieve,  as  others  bid  us.  This,  in  fact,  is  what  is  really  con 
tended  for ;  and  it  implies  not  merely  the  right  to  judge  for 
ourselves,  but,  so  far  as  coercion  is  concerned,  the  right,  if 
we  please,  not  to  judge  at  all ;  for  though  no  man  has  a 
moral  right  to  be  in  the  wrong,  it  does  not  follow  that  another 
man  has  the  right  to  employ  force  to  reclaim  him  from  his 
error.  Much  needless  discussion  has  been  wasted  on  this 
point  by  the  adversaries  of  this  doctrine,  both  ancient  and 
modern  ;  and  yet  nothing  is  more  certain,  or  more  a  matter 
of  daily  experience,  even  where  religion  is  not  directly  in 
question.  A  man  has  no  moral  right  to  get  drunk  at  his  own 
table  ;  and  yet  he  has  a  right  to  deal  very  unceremoni 
ously  with  any  one  who  would  by  force  prevent  him.  And 
so  in  a  thousand  other  cases. 

We  feel  ashamed  of  having  been  compelled,  in  the  middle  of 
the  nineteenth  century,  to  say  any  thing  in  explanation  of  the 
meaning  so  generally  and  notoriously  attached  to  the  phrase, 
"  Right  of  Private  Judgment."  Such  being  its  meaning,  how 
ever,  we  feel  still  more  ashamed  that  there  are  to  be  found 
any  who  will  deny  the  right  itself.  Yet  such  is  the  case  with 
the  writer  to  whom  we  have  just  referred,  and  who  has  in 
curred  the  additional  odium  of  questioning  that  right,  even  as 
limited  —  and,  one  would  have  thought,  put  beyond  contro 
versy —  by  his  own  absurd  interpretation  of  it.  To  one  who 
was  disposed  to  question  the  right,  it  might  be  imagined  more 
reasonable,  or  rather  less  unreasonable,  to  deny  it,  on  the 
supposition  that  it  was  designed  to  protect  all  consciences, 
whether  the  judgment  formed  was  the  result  of  deliberate 
examination  or  not,  than  on  his  own  supposition  that  the 
right  was  contended  for  only  where  such  deliberate  examina 
tion  had  been  made.  Yet  even  such  limited  exercise  of  the 


RIGHT    OF    PRIVATE   JUDGMENT. 

right,  this  author  does  not  think  it  proper  to  concede  to  us. 
According  to  his  notions,  if  any  one  judges  it  proper  to  exer 
cise  this  right,  it  is  quite  competent  to  the  civil  magistrate  to 
inflict  penalties  on  him  for  so  doing.  That  any  one  would 
have  been  insane  enough  to  contend  for  such  a  proposition 
in  the  present  day,  we  could  not  have  believed,  had  we  not 
read  the  statement  with  our  own  eyes.  In  order  to  protect 
ourselves  from  any  charge  of  misrepresentation,  and  to  pre 
vent  others  from  participating  in  the  incredulity  into  which, 
apart  from  such  evidence,  we  should  undoubtedly  have  fallen, 
we  shall  cite  the  following  passage :  —  "  Now  the  first  re 
mark  which  occurs  is  an  obvious  one,  which,  we  suppose, 
will  be  suffered  to  pass  without  opposition,  that,  whatever  be 
the  intrinsic  merits  of  private  judgment,  yet,  if  it  at  all  exerts 
itself  in  the  direction  of  proselytism  and  conversion,  a  certain 
onus  probandi  is  upon  it,  and  it  must  show  cause,  before  it  is 
tolerated,  why  it  should  not  be  convicted  forthwith  as  a 
breach  of  the  peace,  and  silenced  instanter  as  a  mere  dis 
turber  of  the  existing  constitution  of  things.  Of  course  it 
may  be  safely  exercised  in  defending  what  is  established  ; 
and  we  are  far  indeed  from  saying  that  it  is  never  to  advance 
in  the  direction  of  change  or  revolution,  else  the  Gospel  itself 
could  never  have  been  introduced;  but  we  consider  that  such 
material  changes  have  a  prima  facie  case  against  them, — 
they  have  something  to  get  over,  —  and  have  to  prove  their 
admissibility,  before  it  can  reasonably  be  granted  ;  and  their 
agents  may  be  called  upon  to  suffer,  in  order  to  prove  their 
earnestness,  and  to  pay  the  penalty  of  the  trouble  they  are 
causing.  Considering  the  special  countenance  given  in 
Scripture  to  quiet  unanimity  and  contentedness,  and  the  warn 
ings  directed  against  disorder,  irregularity,  a  wavering  temper, 
discord,  and  division  ;  considering  the  emphatic  words  of  the 
Apostle,  laid  down  as  a  general  principle,  and  illustrated  in 
detail,  '  Let  every  man  abide  in  the  same  calling  wherein 
he  was  called ' ;  considering,  in  a  word,  that  change  is  really 
the  characteristic  of  error,  and  unalterableness  the  attribute 


RIGHT    OF    PRIVATE   JUDGMENT.  297 

of  truth,  of  holiness,  of  Almighty  God  himself,  —  we  consider 
that  when  private  judgment  moves  in  the  direction  of  innova 
tion,  it  may  well  be  regarded  with  suspicion,  and  treated 
with  severity.  Nay,  we  confess  even  a  satisfaction,  when  a 
penalty  is  attached  to  the  expression  of  new  doctrines,  or  to  a 
change  of  communion.  We  repeat  it,  if  persons  have  strong 
feelings,  they  should  pay  for  them  :  if  they  think  it  a  duty 
to  unsettle  things  established,  they  should  show  their  earnest 
ness  by  being  willing  to  suffer.  We  shall  be  the  last  to  com 
plain  of  this  kind  of  persecution,  even  though  directed  against 
what  we  consider  the  cause  of  truth.  Such  disadvantages  do 
no  harm  to  that  cause  in  the  event,  but  they  bring  home  to  a 
man's  mind  his  own  responsibility ;  they  are  a  memento  to 
him  of  a  great  moral  law  ;  and  warn  him  that  his  private 
judgment,  if  not  a  duty,  is  a  sin."  * 

This  is,  in  some  respects,  a  remarkable  passage.  One 
would  almost  suspect  that  it  must  be  a  plagiarism  from  some 
ancient  writer,  were  it  not  that  people  do  not  generally  steal 
infected  garments,  nor,  like  old  Elwes,  appropriate  as  pre 
cious,  things  they  have  picked  up  out  of  the  kennel.  We  al 
most  involuntarily  look  for  marks  of  quotation,  or  some 
archaisms  of  expression  which  would  fix  the  date  of  the  par 
agraph  some  two  centuries  ago.  For  ourselves,  we  peruse 
these  arguments,  thus  recalled  from  the  dead,  with  feelings 
much  akin  to  those  with  which  we  should  witness  the  exhu 
mation  of  a  mummy  from  the  depths  of  the  Pyramids,  or  the 
exhibition  of  some  uncouth-looking  weapons  dug  out  of  an 
ancient  tumulus  ;  —  wondering  the  while  at  the  strange 
chance  by  which  things  so  long  buried  in  darkness  attract  the 
gaze  of  men  once  more.  We  seem  to  be  present  at  the 

*  British  Critic,  July,  1841.  — It  is  not  our  wont  to  make  lengthened 
references  to  contemporary  journals.  If  we  have  departed  from  the  usual 
course  on  the  present  occasion,  it  is  assuredly,  not  because  the  journal  in 
question  is  intrinsically  entitled  to  much  notice,  but  because  it  is  gener 
ally  considered  to  be  the  chief  organ  and  representative  of  the  party  who 
advocate  the  principles  of  the  Oxford  Tracts. 


298  RIGHT    OF    PRIVATE   JUDGMENT. 

awakening  of  some  Rip  Van  Winkle,  who  had  been  sleeping, 
not  like  him  of  the  "  Sketch-Book,"  for  twenty,  but  two 
hundred  years.  Why,  these  arguments  are  but  a  feeble  repe 
tition  of  those  which  Locke  so  utterly  demolished  in  those 
matchless  specimens  of  cogent  and  almost  scornful  logic,  — 
the  second  and  third  letters  on  "  Toleration  "  ;  and  which 
Bayle  had  refuted  before  him,  in  his  amusing  commentary 
on  the  words,  "  Compel  them  to  come  in.  "  Few  will  bring 
themselves  to  believe  that  the  majority  even  of  those  who  in 
general  agree  with  the  journal  from  which  the  above  passage 
is  extracted,  can  sympathize  with  the  views  of  this  writer.  If 
they  do,  the  people  of  England  would  do  well  to  watch  with 
double  jealousy  and  suspicion  the  progress  of  "  High-Church 
principles."  If  such  men  as  he  should  achieve  that  triumph 
of  their  principles  for  which  they  are  professedly  striving,  the 
dearest  privileges  of  Englishmen  would  no  longer  be  safe. 

There  is  nothing  whatever  to  distinguish  the  doctrines  of 
this  writer  from  those  which  characterize  the  most  barefaced, 
naked  system  of  ancient  persecution  ;  —  nothing  which 
might  not  have  fallen  from  the  lips  of  a  Gardiner  or  a  Bon- 
ner,  —  nay,  from  those  of  a  Nero  or  a  Diocletian.  For  there 
is  absolutely  nothing  to  limit  the  principles  laid  down ;  and 
those  principles,  thus  unlimited  in  themselves,  and  pushed  to 
their  legitimate  extent,  are  sufficient  to  authorize  any  atroci 
ties.  That  which  is  established,  no  matter  what,  has  on  that 
account  presumption  in  its  favor  of  being  right  and  true  ; 
and  therefore,  wherever  "  private  judgment  at  all  exerts  itself 
in  the  direction  of  proselytism  and  conversion,"  it  must 
"  show  cause,"  before  it  is  tolerated,  why  it  should  not  be 
"  convicted  forthwith  as  a  breach  of  the  peace,  and  silenced 
instanter  as  a  mere  disturber  of  the  existing  constitution  of 
things."  It  must  show  cause.  To  whom  ?  Why,  to  the 
very  parties,  to  be  sure,  who  are  interested  in  suppressing  it, 
—  who  believe  that  it  has  "  no  cause  to  show  " ;  and  until 
they  are  satisfied  —  for  the  innovators  are  surely  satisfied  — 
that  it  has  warrant  for  what  it  says,  it  may  be  suppressed 


RIGHT  OF    PRIVATE    JUDGMENT.  299 

instanter,  and  convicted  of  a  breach  of  the  peace  !     A  man 
must  not  preach  Christianity  at  Rome,  till  he  shows  cause  to 
the  satisfaction  of  a  Nero  or  a  Diocletian  that  there  is  a  suf 
ficiency    of  reason  on  his  side  ;  and,  till  then,  he  may  be 
suppressed  instanter.     That  our  author  did  not  mean  even  to 
exclude  this,  the  strongest  case,  is  evident  by  his  own  allusion 
to   "  the  introduction  of  the  Gospel " :    and  he  has  plainly 
left  us  to  infer  from  his  principles,  that,  though  it  was  right 
of  the  Apostles  to  preach,  it  was  equally  right  in  the  heathen 
to   persecute  them  for  so  doing;  the  innovators  not  having 
"  shown   cause  "  —  as  how  could  they  to  Pagans  ?  —  that 
"  their  case  was  admissible,"  and  "  that  there  was  nothing 
in  it  which  might  not  be  got  over."     The  same  principles 
would  of  course  justify  the  Papists  in  persecuting  the  Protes 
tants,  and  Protestants  in  persecuting  the  Papists ;  and  every 
form,  either  of  truth  or  error,  that  happens  to  be  established, 
in  persecuting  every  exercise  of  private  judgment  that  hap 
pens  to  be  at  variance  with  it.      It  must  be  confessed  that 
these  are  comprehensive  principles  of  persecution,  but  we  do 
not  like  them  the  worse  for  that :  they  are  at  all  events  consist 
ent,  however  indescribably  absurd.     The  accident  of  previous 
possession   determines,  it  seems,  the  right  to  suppress,  and 
whether  it  be  truth  or  error,  it  is  all  the  same :  only,  as  truth 
is  one,  while  error  is  multiform,  error  will  have  the  advantage 
of  this  ruthless  consistency  in  a  hundred  cases  to  one.     And 
as  truth  and  error  are  armed  with  equal  right  to  employ  this 
concise  method  of  "  suppressing  instanter "  ;  so,  as  in  the 
older  systems  of  persecution,  there  is  here  nothing  whatever 
to  limit  the  degree  of  severity  or  violence  which  it  may  be 
deemed  necessary  to  employ  for  that  purpose.     The  duty  is 
to  "  suppress  Instanter"  unless  sufficient  cause  be  shown  to 
those  who  are  disinclined  to  see  it ;  and  we  presume,  that  as, 
when  they  do  not  see  it,  they  are  bound  to  suppress  instanter, 
they  are  at  liberty  to  take  any  steps  for  that  purpose  which 
may  be  effectual ;  for  to  limit  them  to  the  use  only  of  means 
which  may  be  ineffectual,  and  which  sturdy  recusants  may 


300  RIGHT  OF  PRIVATE  JUDGMENT. 

set  at  defiance,  would  be  altogether  nugatory.  A  right  of 
suppressing  error,  provided  it  can  be  suppressed  by  the  stocks 
or  the  pillory,  conjoined  with  a  liberty  to  let  it  run  rampant 
if  hanging  or  burning  is  necessary,  would  be  a  curious  limi 
tation  :  and,  as  it  would  be  unreasonable  to  set  any  such  lim 
its,  so  it  would  be  impossible.  What  is  excess  of  severity  in 
the  code  of  one  set  of  persecutors,  is  childish  lenience  in  that 
of  another.  One  man  might  be  satisfied  with  the  pillory  ; 
another  with  nothing  less  than  the  rack.  Our  modern  apol 
ogist  for  ancient  cruelty  has,  therefore,  wisely  attempted  no 
such  limitation  ;  but,  under  the  general  expression  of  "  satis 
faction  "  at  the  "  infliction  of  penalties,"  has  left  every  variety 
of  persecutors  to  select  their  own.  "  Help  yourselves,  gen 
tlemen,"  is  virtually,  though  we  hope  not  designedly,  his  lan 
guage,  "  according  to  your  diversified  tastes  and  appetites. 
The  table  is  bountifully  spread  ;  the  pillory,  the  rack,  the 
scourge,  the  boot,  the  gibbet,  the  axe,  the  stake,  —  confisca 
tion,  mutilation,  expatriation,  —  are  all  very  much  at  your  ser 
vice,  whenever  those  who  broach  novel  opinions  do  not  "  show 
cause,"  to  your  satisfaction,  that  you  would  be  wrong" if  you 
attempted  to  repress  them.  "  * 

*  The  reasoning  by  which  this  writer  attempts  to  establish  these  con 
clusions,  is  as  curious  as  are  the  conclusions  themselves.  He  actually 
thinks  that  the  fact  of  being  established,  is  a  presumption  of  truth  in  a 
world  where  there  are  a  thousand  different  systems  of  religious  opinion 
established  ;  and  yet  it  is  not  possible  that  more  than  one  of  these  can  be 
the  absolute  truth  !  He  actually  thinks  that  fixedness  is  presumption  of 
truth  in  a  world  where  the  most  steadfast  and  ancient  systems  of  religious 
opinion  have  been,  and  are,  notoriously,  those  of  the  worst  superstition  ! 
He  thinks  "  unalterableness "  a  mark  of  truth,  in  a  world  where  the 
great  innovation  that  is  at  length  to  remedy  its  miseries  was  reserved 
till  four  thousand  years  after  its  creation  !  "  Change  "  a  characteristic 
of  error  in  a  world  the  great  law  of  which  is  incessant  change  !  It  is 
true  that  "  unalterableness  "  is  an  attribute  of  truth,  inasmuch  as  truth  is 
always  one  and  the  same ;  but  he  would  have  us  infer  that  what  has  been 
long  "  unaltered  "  is  "  true  "  ;  if  this  were  so,  as  already  shown,  there 
would  be  a  thousand  different  and  conflicting  systems  of  truth  in  the 
world.  With  equal  logic,  this  writer  actually  imagines  that  the  injunc- 


RIGHT    OF    PRIVATE    JUDGMENT.  301 

It  would  be  a  melancholy  waste  of  time  to  attempt  a  for 
mal  proof  of  the  wickedness  and  folly  of  persecution.  Yet,  as 
it  appears  that  in  the  year  of  grace  1841  it  was  possible  for 
one  who  could  at  least  write  and  spell  —  whatever  other  attri 
butes  of  a  rational  nature  he  might  have  or  want  —  to  apolo 
gize  for  it,  or  rather  to  panegyrize  it,  it  may  not  be  unin- 
structive  to  exhibit,  in  one  or  two  paragraphs,  the  crushing 
arguments  by  which  the  principles  of  religious  freedom  were 
first  established ;  and  the  various  modifications  of  the  theory 
of  persecution  which  its  advocates  were  contented  to  frame, 
before  they  would  wholly  forego  it.  And  most  impressive  it 
is  to  see  how  tenacious  of  life  the  monster  was  ;  —  how  mamy 
and  oft  repeated  the  exorcisms  by  which  the  demon  was  at 
length  expelled. 

We  shall  merely  state  the  principal  arguments  ;  to  state 
them  is  now  enough.  It  was  argued  then, — That  it  is  not 
within  a  ruler's  province  to  determine  the  religion  of  his  sub 
jects,  —  he  having  no  commission  to  attempt  it ;  not  from 

tion,  "  Let  every  man  abide  in  the  same  calling  wherein  he  was  called," 
has  something  to  do  with  the  determination  of  the  present  question  ;  — 
that  an  injunction  not  capriciously  to  change  our  secular  profession  can 
be  any  warrant  for  inflicting  penalties  on  those  who  innovate  on  estab 
lished  opinions  in  religion,  inasmuch  as  it  is  a  probable  case  that  they  are 
actuated  thereto  by  caprice  and  fickleness ;  or  that  it  can  justify  acquies 
cence  in  opinions  or  practices  which  the  conscience  disapproves  !  Truly, 
this  text  of  "  abiding  in  that  calling  wherein  we  are  called,"  is  a  short 
method  of  effectually  settling  the  scruples  of  a  restless  conscience,  and  of 
insuring,  to  the  world's  end,  that  there  shall  be  no  further  conversions 
from  one  system  of  opinions  to  another.  The  various  castes  are  fixed, 
and  let  not  any  go  out  of  them.  He  that  is  a  Brahmin,  let  him  be  a 
Brahmin  still ;  he  that  is  a  Mahometan,  let  him  be  a  Mahometan  still ; 
he  that  is  a  Christian,  —  Calvinist  or  Arminian,  Episcopalian  or  Presby 
terian,  —  let  him  be  such  still;  for  "  let  every  man  abide  in  that  calling 
wherein  he  is  called."  One  cannot  wonder,  after  this,  that  Thomas 
Aquinas  should  have  been  able  to  prove  that  it  is  the  duty  of  inferiors  in 
the  Church  to  submit  to  their  superiors,  from  the  words,  "  The  oxen 
were  ploughing,  and  the  asses  were  feeding  beside  them  " ;  nor  at  the 
astuteness  of  that  Papist  who  affirmed  the  propriety  of  worshipping  the 
saints,  because  it  is  written,  "  God  is  wonderful  in  all  his  works. " 
26 


302  RIGHT   OF   PRIVATE  JUDGMENT.  / 

Scripture,  for  Peter  and  Paul  preached  Christianity  in  defi 
ance  of  the  magistrate  ;  not  from  compact  on  the  part  of  the 
people,  for  few  would,  and  none  could  if  they  would,  surren 
der  to  another  the  care  of  their  salvation :  That  religion,  ex 
cept  as  intelligent  and  voluntary,  is  nothing  worth :  That,  in 
the  very  nature  of  things,  the  employment  of  force  to  make 
men  believe,  is  a  palpable  absurdity :  That,  for  example, 
the  thumbscrew  can  never  make  a  man  believe  the  doctrine 
of  the  Trinity ;  and  that,  if  it  make  him  say  he  believes  it 
when  he  does  not,  all  that  the  thumbscrew  does  is  to  make 
the  man  a  liar  and  hypocrite,  in  addition  to  being  a  heretic  : 
That  the  unprincipled  will  escape  by  conforming,  and  only 
the  conscientious  be  punished  ;  so  that  the  sole  result  is  per 
jury  on  the  one  hand,  and  gratuitous  suffering  on  the  other : 
That  the  alleged  power  is  as  inexpedient  as  it  is  unjust ;  for 
rulers  are  no  more  likely  to  know  religious  truth  than  pri 
vate  persons,  as  is  proved  by  the  diversity  of  opinions  among 
rulers  themselves ;  nor  so  likely  as  many,  for  they  are  prin 
cipally  occupied  with  very  different  objects :  That  if  the 
rulers'  religion  be  a  false  one,  all  the  above  evils  are  aggra 
vated,  for  error  has  then  all  the  advantage  ;  those  who  are 
really  converted  being  converted  to  error ;  those  who  only 
say  they  are  converted,  embracing  error  with  a  lie  in  their 
right  hand  ;  while  the  suffering  falls  solely  on  those  who  are 
in  possession  of  the  truth :  That  supposing  the  right  to  com 
pel  resides  in  the  magistrate,  it  must  reside  in  every  magis 
trate  ;  and  as  truth  is  but  one  and  error  multiform,  there  will, 
on  the  whole,  be  a  hundredfold  as  much  force  employed 
against  the  truth  as  for  it :  That  if  it  be  said,  as  was  often 
most  vainly  said,  "  it  is  the  duty  of  the  magistrate  to  compel 
only  to  the  true  religion,"  the  question  returns,  "  Who  is  to 
be  the  judge  of  truth  ?  "  while,  as  each  ruler  will  judge  his  own 
religion  to  be  true,  this  is  but  going  a  roundabout  way  to  the 
same  point :  That  the  system,  if  justifiable  at  all,  will  author 
ize  and  necessitate  the  utmost  severities ;  for  if  it  be  the  duty 
of  the  magistrate  to  compel  all  to  adopt  his  religion,  the  meth- 


RIGHT    OF    PRIVATE    JUDGMENT.  303 

ods  which  will  most  surely  and  speedily  effect  this,  will  be 
the  best ;  that,  therefore,  burning,  hanging,  torture,  being  the 
most  thorough  and  most  likely  to  be  successful,  are  to  be  pre 
ferred  :  lastly,  That  after  the  most  remorseless  and  protract 
ed  application  of  the  system,  history  affords  the  most  striking 
proofs  that  it  can  never  be  successful ;  that  the  uniformity 
sought  can  never  be  obtained  ;  that  the  conscientious  are  only 
the  more  fully  convinced  of  the  truth  of  their  system,  whether 
it  be  truth  or  error ;  that  fortitude  will  be  prepared  to  endure 
all  that  cruelty  is  prepared  to  inflict ;  and  that  not  only  in  the 
history  of  Christianity,  but  in  that  of  all  religions,  it  has  been 
seen  that  "  the  blood  of  the  Martyrs  has  been  the  seed  of  the 
Church." 

These  arguments,  and  such  as  these,  were,  and  will  ever 
be,  felt  to  be  resistless  against  the  ancient  and  only  consistent 
scheme  of  persecution.  No  wonder,  then,  that  men  who 
could  not  gainsay,  and  yet  would  not  adopt  them,  should  seek 
some  mitigated  system,  which  might  leave  them  still  the  luxu 
ry  of  persecution,  or  secure  their  darling  idol  of  uniformity 
with  less  expense  to  humanity  and  logic.  It  is  curious  to  see 
the  efforts  which  from  time  to  time  have  been  made  to  discov 
er  this  tertium  quid,  —  a  sort  of  purgatory  between  the  heav 
en  of  perfect  freedom  and  the  hell  of  perfect  despotism.  But 
there  is  in  truth  no  medium.  The  two  extremes  are  alone 
consistent,  —  and,  so  far  as  that  goes,  both  are  equally  so. 
All  intermediate  systems  are  absurd  and  inconsistent ;  they 
are  examples,  every  one  of  them,  of  unstable  equilibrium,  — 
the  slightest  breath  of  wind  suffices  to  throw  them  down. 
The  old  system  is  at  least  a  strong-looking  symmetrical  fab 
ric,  cemented  though  it  be  with  blood  from  the  foundation- 
stone  to  the  topmost  pinnacle.  The  system  which  says, 
"  You  shall  be  of  my  religion,  or  at  all  events  pretend  you 
are,  whether  you  be  or  not ;  therefore  bethink  you  betimes 
whether  you  love  truth  more  than  you  dread  the  rack,  or 
if  need  be,  more  than  burning  fagots  or  molten  lead,"  —  is 
at  least  perfectly  intelligible  and  consistent,  however  hideous. 


304  RIGHT    OF    PRIVATE   JUDGMENT. 

This  is  an  iron-hearted,  brazen-faced  Devil  enough,  and  one 
has  some  involuntary,  shuddering  awe  of  him.  How  far  the 
petty  imps  who  aspire  to  share  his  guilt,  but  dare  not  emulate 
such  sublimity  of  wickedness,  are  entitled  to  respect  of  any 
kind,  we  shall  presently  see. 

Some  of  the  most  obvious  modifications  by  which  the  un 
qualified  system  of  persecution  might  be  stripped  of  its  more 
revolting  features,  suggested  themselves  to  the  anonymous 
writer  *  who  undertook  the  perilous  task  of  answering  Locke's 
first  letter  on  Toleration  ;  and  indeed  were  anticipated  by 
Bayle  in  that  part  of  his  "  Philosophical  Commentary, " 
where  he  examines,  with  deliberate  and  minute  attention,  the 
"  objections  "  to  his  principles.  First,  Locke's  adversary  de 
clared  that  it  was  far  from  his  purpose  to  undertake  the  de 
fence  of  the  horrid  cruelties  by  which  history  is  disfigured. 
No,  —  it  was  only  "  moderate  penalties  "  and  "  convenient 
punishments  "  for  which  he  pleaded  !  Now  here  —  not  to 
insist  that  almost  all  the  arguments  above  stated  against  the 
most  unqualified  system,  apply  with  unabated  force  to  this 
and  every  modification  of  it  —  we  come  at  once  to  the  first 
of  those  symptoms  of  instability,  which,  as  we  have  said, 
characterize  the  whole.  What  are  "  moderate  penalties  "  and 
"  gentle  punishments  "  ?  Hanging  is  moderate  compared 
with  burning,  and  branding  gentle  compared  with  the  rack. 
To  some  men  of  squeamish  sensibility,  even  the  cropping  of 
the  ears,  the  free  use  of  the  scourge,  a  few  years'  imprison 
ment  or  banishment,  might  foolishly  be  considered  excessive. 
Nay,  we  know  not  whether  there  might  not  be  found  some 
who  would  object  to  ruin  men  even  by  regular  process  of 
law,  by  quirks  and  quibbles,  —  perhaps,  even  to  the  pillory, 
fines,  confiscation ;  while  there  might  be  others  (as  there  un 
doubtedly  have  been  many),  who  would  say  of  all  heretics, 
that  "  hanging  is  too  good  for  them  "  ;  and  who  would  not 

*  "We  learn  from  Wood's  "  Athene  Oxonienses,"  that  the  author  was 
Jonas  Proast,  of  Queen's  College,  Oxford. 


RIGHT  OF    PRIVATE    JUDGMENT.  305 

only  show  their  charity  by  sending  them,  if  obstinate,  to  per 
dition,  but  that,  too,  by  methods  which  should  convince  them 
that  they  did  not  lose  much  by  exchanging  earth  for  hell. 

It  has  been  already  remarked,  that  our  modern  champion 
of  persecution,  who  "  confesses  a  satisfaction  "  (we  admire 
the  felicity  no  less  than  the  honesty  of  the  phrase)  "  in  the 
infliction  of  penalties  "  for  change  of  opinion,  has  left  this 
matter  equally  in  the  dark.  For  this  he  is  not  to  be  blamed  ; 
it  was  impossible  for  him  to  assign  limits,  and  he  has  there 
fore  wisely  refrained  from  attempting  it.  Whether  a  fine  of 
a  hundred  pounds  be  thought  equivalent  to  the  luxury  of  a 
new  opinion,  —  whether  such  a  bonne  louche  ought  to  go  still 
higher, —  whether  it  be  dear  at  imprisonment,  confiscation, 
banishment,  —  whether  his  clemency  would  be  "  satisfied  " 
with  the  stocks,  or  the  pillory,  or  branding,  —  or  whether  he 
would  "  confess  a  satisfaction  "  (in  very  obstinate  cases)  at 
hanging  or  burning,  is  all  unhappily  matter  of  conjecture. 

Locke's  adversary  further  modified  the  system,  by  declar 
ing  that  the  "moderate  penalties"  and  the  "convenient 
punishment "  for  which  he  contended,  were  not  designed  to 
compel  those  on  whom  they  were  inflicted  to  adopt  a  par 
ticular  form  of  religion  at  the  option  of  the  magistrate  ;  but 
to  induce  them  to  "  examine,"  to  "  consider,"  calmly  and 
deliberately,  that  they  might  not,  as  too  often  happens,  be 
led  by  passion  or  caprice,  or  any  other  motive  which  ought 
to  have  no  influence  in  the  determination  of  the  question ! 
Whereupon  he  was  asked  whether  he  considered  the  fear 
of  torture  or  banishment,  and  the  hope  of  recompense  or  im 
punity,  amongst  the  passions  ?  Whether  he  seriously  thought 
that  the  rack  or  the  thumbscrew  would  favor  that  calm  and 
equal  consideration  which  he  was  so  charitably  desirous  of 
promoting  ?  Whether  a  man  under  the  pangs  of  torture,  or 
the  dread  of  confiscation  or  banishment,  is  in  a  better  condi 
tion  for  the  exercise  of  his  logic  ?  Whether  the  mind,  under 
such  discipline,  would  not  be  as  effectually  under  a  sinister 
bias,  as  if  left  to  the  dominion  of  any  other  passions  whatso- 
26* 


306  RIGHT    OF    PRIVATE   JUDGMENT. 

ever  ?  Whether  the  author  would  have  this  charitable  expres 
sion  of  concern  for  the  souls  of  men  fairly  applied  to  all  who, 
it  might  be  deemed,  had  not  given  the  subject  of  religion 
"  an  equal  and  conscientious  examination  " ;  and,  amongst 
the  rest,  to  the  multitudes  of  "  inconsiderate  professors  "  of 
the  natural  religion,  who,  as  they  are  often  more  liable  to 
take  their  religion  on  trust  and  in  haste,  than  those  who  must 
suffer  something  for  it,  stand  in  more  urgent  need  of  such 
a  provocative  to  deliberation  ?  Whether,  if  he  replied  in  the 
negative,  "  his  remedy  would  not  resemble  the  helleboraster 
that  grew  in  the  woman's  garden  for  the  cure  of  worms  in 
her  neighbors'  children,  for  that  it  wrought  too  roughly  to 
give  it  to  any  of  her  own  "  ?  *  Whether  it  could  be  thought 
that  the  magistrate  who  had  established  a  given  religion,  or 
the  clergy  who  preached  it,  would  tolerate  such  an  impartial 
application  of  the  system  of  "  moderate  and  convenient  pen 
alties  "  to  those  of  their  own  communion,  however  little  they 
may  have  "  examined  "  ?  Whether  the  plan  had  ever  been 
acted  upon,  or  was  ever  likely  to  be  ?  Whether  it  would  not 
be  a  most  curious  and  unprecedented  act  of  legislation,  to 
inflict  penalties  with  the  vague  object  of  making  people  "  ex 
amine  "  whether  they  are  in  the  right  or  not :  or,  rather,  with 
the  still  more  vague  object  of  making  them  "  seek  truth  " 
till  they  find  it,  in  the  absence  of  a  judge  to  determine  what 
that  truth  is  ?  Whether  it  would  not  be  very  much  like 
"  whipping  a  scholar  to  make  him  find  out  the  square  root  of 
a  number  you  do  not  know  "  ?  Whether  he  who  declares  he 
has  examined,  and  is  still  of  the  same  mind,  and  that  not  the 
mind  of  a  conformist,  is  to  be  released  from  all  further  pun 
ishment  ?  or  whether  public  officials  are  to  be  appointed  to 
"  examine  "  whether  he  has  "  examined  "  enough  ?  Wheth 
er  these  are  to  be  satisfied  that  he  has  examined  enough,  or 
are  likely  to  be  so,  till  he  has  "  examined  "  himself  into  the 
state  of  mind  which  will  induce  him  to  conform  ?  and  wheth- 

*  Locke's  "  Second  Letter."    Works,  Vol.  V.  p.  99. 


RIGHT    OF    PRIVATE    JUDGMENT.  307 

er,  if  they  are  not  to  be  satisfied  till  then,  this  system  of 
"  moderate  penalties  "  does  not,  after  all,  resolve  itself  into 
the  system  of  compelling  men  to  conform  to  the  religion  of 
the  magistrate  ?  There  are  some  things  in  the  extract  from 
that  modern  writer  on  whom  we  have  been  animadverting, 
which  remind  one  of  this  system :  "  Penalties  bring  home  to 
a  man  his  own  responsibility,"  —  "  they  are  a  memento  to 
him  of  a  great  moral  law,  and  warn  him  that  his  private  judg 
ment,  if  not  a  duty,  is  a  sin."  "  If  persons  have  strong  feel 
ings,  they  should  pay  for  them  ;  if  they  think  it  a  duty  to 
unsettle  things  established,  they  should  show  their  earnestness 
by  being  willing  to  suffer."  Here  one  would  think  that  the 
charitable  object,  like  that  of  Locke's  antagonist,  was  to  se 
cure  conscientiousness  and  deliberation  on  the  part  of  the 
sufferers  for  supposed  truth,  or  to  sublime  their  virtues  into 
heroism.  But  we  have  already  shown,  and  the  former  part 
of  the  paragraph  indeed  avows  it,  that  it  is  for  the  sake  of 
peace  and  quietness  —  on  behalf  of  the  "  established  opin 
ions  "  —  that  he  chiefly  desires  these  penalties  to  be  inflicted. 

Locke's  adversary  subsequently  shuffled  out  of  his  original 
position,  and  affirmed  that  magistrates  were  at  liberty  to  per 
secute  only  for  the  true  religion  ;  and  that  it  was  at  their  per 
il  if  they  indulged  in  any  eccentricities  of  the  kind  in  favor 
of  any  false  religion.  Locke,  of  course,  unmercifully  ex 
poses  this  childish  fallacy.  For  who  is  to  be  the  judge  of 
truth  but  the  magistrate  himself?  And,  if  it  be  his  duty  to 
enforce  obedience  to  some  religion,  he  must  of  course  enforce 
obedience  to  that  which  he  deems  true. 

Even  after  the  general  principles  of  toleration  were  estab 
lished,  it  was  long  before  the  spirit  of  persecution  was  quite 
subdued  ;  indeed,  as  we  all  know,  it  was  only  within  the  last 
few  years  that  our  statutes  were  purged  from  the  last  traces 
of  it.  Men  found  out,  it  seems,  after  the  more  violent  forms 
of  persecution  were  abandoned,  that  it  was  still  very  proper 
to  visit  those  who  did  not  conform  to  the  religion  of  the  mag 
istrate,  with  the  privation  of  some  of  their  civil  rights !  This 


RIGHT    OF    PRIVATE    JUDGMENT. 

was  no  punishment,  it  was  simply  a  negation.  Ingenious 
phraseology  !  To  be  kept  without  a  thing  is  something  very 
different  from  having  something  taken  away  from  us,  and 
what  a  man  never  had,  of  course  he  can  never  much  miss ; 
and  thus,  by  this  subtle  distinction  of  "  negations,"  men  man 
aged  to  gratify  their  bigotry  and  to  cloak  their  absurdity  at 
the  same  time.  Happily  we  have  got  beyond  this  also. 

The  writer  who  has  detained  us  so  long  is,  so  far  as  we 
know,  almost  alone  in  the  frank  and  explicit  confession  of 
his  preference  for  the  antiquated  system  of  persecution ;  a 
solitary  champion  of  the  "  suppression  "  of  the  "  Right  of 
Private  Judgment"  by  "pains  and  penalties."  But  there 
are  not  a  few  who  would  attempt  to  limit  its  exercise  by  an 
appeal  to  human  authority  ;  though  they  would  not  advocate 
the  employment  of  violence  for  that  purpose.  It  must  be 
confessed  that  this  system  is  better  than  that  of  force,  just 
upon  the  principle,  that  he  who  simply  steals  is  less  guilty 
than  he  who  commits  both  theft  and  murder.  But  the  system 
itself  is  far  less  compact  and  consistent.  If  man  be  rightfully 
accountable  to  his  fellows  for  the  formation  or  expression  of 
his  religious  opinions,  —  if  he  ought  to  adopt  those  which  he 
is  told  to  adopt,  —  one  would  imagine  it  but  reasonable  to 
arm  authority  with  some  means  of  enforcing  its  mandates. 
The  duty  of  submission  to  any  human  authority,  would  seem 
to  imply  the  correlative  right  of  visiting  disobedience  with 
some  sort  of  penalties.  If  not,  it  is  authority  only  in  name. 
What  should  we  say  to  a  legislator,  who,  enacting  certain 
laws,  should  set  forth  in  the  preamble,  that  they  were  binding 
only  on  those  who  chose  to  be  bound  by  them,  and  that  those 
who  did  not  might  throw  them  into  the  fire  ?  It  reminds  us 
of  the  humorous  case  cited  by  Pelisson  in  his  controversy 
with  Leibnitz.  *  An  "  inconstant  lover  "  and  his  "  volatile 

*  "  Je  n'ose  faire  une  comparaison  trop  peu  serieuse,  et  prise  de  ces  lec 
tures  frivoles,  qui  ont  amuse  raon  enfance  ;  mais  je  ne  s^aurois  pourtant 
m'empecher  d'y  penser.  Dans  une  de  nos  Fables  Francoises,  (1'inge- 


EIGHT    OF    PRIVATE  JUDGMENT.  309 

mistress  "  gravely  lay  down  the  laws  which  are  to  regulate 
their  courtship,  and  the  last  of  them  is,  that  both  should  break 
any  of  them  they  thought  proper.  South,  consistently  argu 
ing  on  his  principles,  that  ecclesiastical  authority  ought  to  be 
backed  by  "  temporal  power,"  anticipated  and  rebuked  the 
inconsistency  of  all  half-hearted  apologists  for  the  suppression 
of  conscience.  He  ridiculed  the  idea  of  authority  without 
coercion,  —  of  laws  without  penalties,  —  of  obligations  to  obey 
conjoined  with  liberty  to  rebel.  He  consistently  preferred 
persecution  to  the  sanction  of  so  singular  a  freedom  ;  and  ex 
poses  the  fallacy  in  his  own  ludicrous  manner.  "  Some," 
he  says,  "  will  by  no  means  allow  the  Church  any  further 
power  than  only  to  exhort  and  advise  ;  and  this  but  with  a 
proviso  too,  that  it  extends  not  to  such  as  think  themselves  too 
wise  and  too  great  to  be  advised  ;  according  to  the  hypothesis 
of  which  persons,  the  authority  of  the  Church,  and  the 
obliging  force  of  all  Church-sanctions,  can  bespeak  men 
only  thus  :  These  and  these  things  it  is  your  duty  to  do,  and 
if  you  will  not  do  them,  you  may  as  well  let  them  alone."  * 
But  whether  it  be  that  the  enemies  of  religious  freedom 
despair  of  reviving  the  ancient  opinions,  or  think  that  there  is 
little  present  chance  of  success,  or  are  really  weary  of  them, 
it  is  certain  that,  while  there  is  no  lack  of  theories  by  which 
the  "  Right  of  Private  Judgment "  is  virtually  denied  or  curi 
ously  circumscribed,  few,  like  the  author  on  whose  fanatical 
extravagances  we  have  been  commenting,  would  choose  to 
"  confess  a  satisfaction,  when  a  penalty  is  attached  to  the  ex 
pression  of  new  doctrines,  or  to  a  change  of  communion." 
Nay,  as  will  shortly  be  seen,  even  he,  in  despair,  we  suppose, 
of  getting  mankind  to  adopt  his  antiquated  opinions^  provides, 
in  condescension  to  their  infirmities  and  ignorance,  a  mode 

nieux  roman  de  Monsieur  D'Urf6:  que  tous  le  monde  connoit,)  1'amant 
inconstant  et  la  maitresse  volage  font  avec  grand  soin  les  loix  de  leur 
amitie  ;  mais  la  derniere  de  toutes  est  qu'on  n'en  observera  pas  une,  si 
Ton  ne  veut."  — Leibnitzii  Opera,  Tom.  I.  p.  689. 
*  South's  "  Sermons,"  Vol.  I.  p.  132. 


310  RIGHT    OF    PRIVATE   JUDGMENT. 

of  exercising  the  right,  which,  as  he  flatters  himself,  will  still 
get  rid  of  all  its  principal  inconveniences.  This,  and  some 
other  theories,  we  shall  now  briefly  examine,  and  shall  show 
of  them  all  that  they  are  absolutely  nugatory,  inasmuch  as 
they  still  leave,  for  the  decision  of  "  private  judgment,"  ques 
tions  as  difficult  and  perplexing  as  those  which,  according  to 
the  common  theory,  are  submitted  to  it ;  or,  what  is  worse, 
that  they  enjoin,  in  obedience  to  an  authority  neither  claim 
ing  nor  admitted  to  be  infallible,  a  deliberate  violation  of  the 
law  of  conscience,  where  the  actual  convictions  of  the  indi 
vidual  are  at  variance  with  that  authority ;  or,  lastly,  that 
they  are  chargeable  on  both  these  counts. 

Nothing,  indeed,  short  of  the  Popish  doctrine  of  the 
Church's  infallibility,  will  effectually  limit  the  "  Right  of  Pri 
vate  Judgment."  Even  that  cannot  annul  it.  For  there  will 
still  be  left  one  unhappy  question  for  its  decision  ;  namely, 
whether  the  docile  soul  may  unhesitatingly  surrender  it,  and 
receive  the  assurances  of  its  guide  that  the  said  guide  is  truly 
infallible.  Still  the  Romish  doctrine  does  reduce  the  right  to 
a  minimum  of  activity.  For  though  we  Protestants,  who  de 
ny  that  doctrine,  know  very  well  that  the  "  variations  of  Ro 
manism  "  have  been  nearly,  if  not  quite,  as  numerous  as 
those  which  Bossuet  charged  upon  Protestantism,  and  many 
of  them  on  points  quite  as  important  as  those  which  the 
Church  professes  to  have  definitely  settled  ;  —  though  we 
know  that  Popes  have  been  opposed  to  Popes,  and  Councils 
to  Councils;  that  Popes  have  contradicted  Councils,  and 
Councils  contradicted  Popes  ;  —  though  there  have  been  infi 
nite  disputes  as  to  where  the  infallibility  resides,  what  are 
the  doctrines  it  has  definitely  pronounced  true,  and  who  to 
the  individual  is  the  infallible  expounder  of  what  is  thus  in 
fallibly  pronounced  infallible  ;  —  yet  he  who  receives  this 
doctrine  in  its  integrity  has  nothing  more  to  do  than  to  eject 
his  reason,  sublime  his  faith  into  credulity,  and  reduce  his 
creed  to  these  two  comprehensive  articles  :  "  I  believe  what 
soever  the  Church  believes  "  ;  —  "I  believe  that  the  Church 


RIGHT    OF   PRIVATE    JUDGMENT.  311 

believes  whatsoever  my  father-confessor  believes  that  she  be 
lieves."  For  thus  he  reasons  :  Nothing  is  more  certain 
than  that  whatsoever  God  says  is  infallibly  true  ;  it  is  infalli 
bly  true  that  the  Church  says  just  what  God  says  ;  it  is  in 
fallibly  true  that  what  the  Church  says  is  known  ;  and  it  is 
also  infallibly  true  that  my  father-confessor,  or  the  parson  of 
the  next  parish,  is  an  infallible  expositor  of  what  is  thus  in 
fallibly  known  to  be  the  Church's  infallible  belief,  of  what 
God  has  declared  to  be  infallibly  true.  If  any  one  of  the 
links,  even  the  last,  in  this  strange  sorites,  be  supposed  un 
sound, —  if  it  be  not  true  that  the  priest  is  an  infallible  ex 
pounder  to  the  individual  of  the  Church's  infallibility,  —  if 
his  judgment  be  only  his  "  private  judgment,"  —  we  come 
back  at  once  to  the  perplexities  of  the  common  theory  of  pri 
vate  judgment;  and  the  question  then  submitted  to  the  indi 
vidual  Romanist's  "  private  judgment  "  is,  whether  it  be  rea 
sonable  in  him,  in  a  matter  of  which  he  knows  nothing,  but 
which  is  yet  of  infinite  moment,  to  surrender  his  private  judg 
ment  to  that  of  another  man.  And  truly,  to  decide  a  ques 
tion  without  having  any  data  for  deciding  it,  appears  to  us 
quite  as  difficult  a  problem  as  any  of  those  which  are  ordina 
rily  submitted  to  "  private  judgment.  "  The  system,  there 
fore,  must  be  received  in  its  integrity,  and  if  so,  the  rule  of 
conduct  is  very  simple.  If  the  priest  tells  us  that  bread  is 
flesh,  and  wine  is  blood,  —  that  the  sun  revolves  round  the 
earth,  —  that  Gulliver's  Travels,  if  they  had  not  been  written 
by  a  heretic,  would  have  been  as  true  as  the  Gospel,  —  all 
we  have  to  do  is  to  believe  it,  and,  if  need  be,  to  believe  it 
even  for  Tertullian's  paradoxical  reason,  "  because  it  is  im 
possible." 

Of  every  other  mode  of  nullifying  or  circumscribing  the 
right  of  judgment,  and  of  this  too,  except  where  the  claim  of 
infallibility  is  not  merely  made,  but  admitted,  it  may  be  shown, 
as  already  said,  that  it  is  either  nugatory,  or  flagitious,  or 
both. 

Conscious  of  this,  there  is  a  small  party  of  hybrid  Protes- 


312  RIGHT    OF   PRIVATE   JUDGMENT. 

tants  amongst  us,  who  virtually  claim  for  some  church  un 
known  —  neither  the  Church  of  Rome  nor  the  Church  of 
England,  and  yet  both,  but  certainly  not  the  Church  of  Scot 
land  ;  some  "  Visible  Church,"  which  is  not  to  be  seen  ;  some 
"  Catholic  Church,"  which  excludes  all  Christians  except 
Episcopalians  ;  some  "  Undivided  Church,"  which  embraces 
the  communions  of  the  reciprocally  excommunicated  ;  some 
"  Primitive  Church  "  of  uncertain  date  —  nothing  less  than 
the  infallibility,  and  consequent  authority,  of  the  Church  of 
Rome.  But  they  are  "  born  out  of  due  time  "  ;  their  infalli 
bility  comes  too  late  to  enable  them  by  its  means  to  limit  the 
"  Right  of  Private  Judgment,"  or  relieve  us  of  our  perplexi 
ties.  For  unhappily  the  Church  of  Rome  has  got  the  start  of 
them  ;  there  are,  therefore,  rival  claims  to  infallibility  ;  and 
consequently,  if  more  could  be  said  to  reconcile  the  manifold 
contradictions  of  the  theory  of  these  men,  and  to  authenticate 
their  claims  to  be  its  expositors,  than  ever  can  be  said,  *'  pri 
vate  judgment  "  would  still  be  pressed  with  the  most  tran- 
scendently  perplexing  question  ever  submitted  to  the  arbitra 
tion  of  ignorance,  —  "  Of  two  claimants  to  infallibility,  which 
is  the  more  likely  to  be  infallible  ?  "  —  But  to  resume  the 
modern  theories. 

The  writer,  on  whose  appetite  for  persecution  we  have 
been  constrained  to  animadvert,  is  not,  it  appears,  disposed, 
after  all,  to  deny  the  free  exercise  of  "  private  judgment," 
but  merely  to  limit  the  range  of  its  inquiries  ;  —  that  is,  the 
bird  may  freely  range  in  its  cage ;  nevertheless,  we  shall 
show  that  even  there  it  has  room  to  lose  itself.  He  has 
discovered,  it  seems,  that  the  question  which  "  private  judg 
ment  "  is  called  to  decide  is,  "  Who  is  the  teacher  we  are  to 
follow  ?  not,  What  are  the  doctrines  we  are  to  believe  ?  " 
The  "  precedents  "  in  Scripture,  he  affirms,  "  sanction  not 
an  inquiry  about  Gospel  doctrine,  but  about  the  Gospel  teach 
er  ;  not  what  has  God  revealed,  but  whom  has  he  commis 
sioned  ?  "  He  maintains  "  that  the  private  student  of  Scrip 
ture  would  not  ordinarily  gain  a  knowledge  of  the  Gospel 


RIGHT    OF   PRIVATE    JUDGMENT.  313 

from  it " !  Once  more,  he  says,  "  The  New  Testament, 
equally  with  the  Old,  as  far  as  it  speaks  of  examination  into 
doctrines  professedly  from  heaven,  makes  their  teachers  the 

subject  of  that  inquiry,  and  not  their  matter." "  Let 

it  be  observed  how  exactly  this  view  of  the  province  of  pri 
vate  judgment,  where  it  is  allowable,  as  being  the  discovery, 
not  of  doctrine,  but  of  the  teachers  of  doctrine,  coincides  both 
with  the  nature  of  religion  and  the  state  of  human  society  as 
we  find  it."  We  have  already  had  a  notable  specimen  of 
the  exegetical  talents  of  this  writer,  and  need  not,  therefore, 
be  surprised  at  his  professing  to  find  Scripture  proof  of  this 
doctrine  also.  It  must  be  confessed,  however,  that  his  meth 
od  is  somewhat  novel,  and  would  be  generally  imagined 
equajly  opposed  to  criticism  and  to  logic.  He  seems  to  think 
he  has  made  out  his  point,  if  he  but  proves  that  teachers  are 
promised  in  Scripture,  and  that  it  is  within  the  province  of 
private  judgment  to  decide  on  their  credentials.  We  deny 
neither.  "  In  remarkable  coincidence,"  says  he,  "  with  this 
view,  we  find  in  both  Testaments  that  teachers  are  promised 
under  the  dispensation  of  the  Gospel "  !  Might  we  not  just 
as  logically  say,  that,  "  in  remarkable  coincidence  with  our 
views,"  we  find  it  written  that  "  there  was  a  man  in  the  land 
of  Uz,  whose  name  was  Job  "  ?  What  is  all  this  to  the  pur 
pose  ?  Who  denies  that  religious  teachers  are  promised  ? 
As  little  do  we  deny  that  it  is  the  right  of  individuals  to  judge 
of  their  pretensions  and  credentials.  But  does  the  right  ter 
minate  there  ?  that  is  the  question.  One  would  imagine  that 
the  commendation  bestowed  on  the  Bereans,  for  searching  the 
Scriptures  to  see  "  whether  the  things  told  them  "  by  Paul 
"  were  so,"  would  be  alone  sufficient  to  decide  this  point. 
But  no,  —  our  author  expressly  says,  though  he  attempts  not 
to  prove  it,  that  this,  too,  is  "  amongst  the  precedents  which 
sanction  not  an  inquiry  about  Gospel  doctrine,  but  about  the 
Gospel  teacher  "  ! 

Let  it  be  ruled  so,  then.     And  now  to  consider  the  system 
itself.     It  may  well  be  maintained  that  the  question  thus  sub- 
27 


314  RIGHT    OF   PRIVATE   JUDGMENT. 

mitted  to  "  private  judgment,"  is  as  difficult  as  any  which  are 
ordinarily  submitted  to  it.  If  a  man  be  incompetent  for  the 
latter,  he  is  equally  incompetent  for  the  former.  The  reason 
ing  is  about  as  good  as  would  be  that  of  a  father  who  should 
say  to  his  child,  "  Though  it  is  true  you  are  not  competent  to 
say  what  it  is  fit  for  you  to  learn,  and,  therefore,  cannot  se 
lect  for  yourself  a  school,  yet  you  are  perfectly  welcome  to 
choose  your  schoolmaster.'1''  We  repeat,  that  if  this  exercise 
of  judgment  is  to  be  a  bona  fide  exercise  of  judgment  at  all, 
it  will  not  be  a  whit  less  difficult  to  decide  upon  the  "  teacher," 
than  upon  the  "  general  doctrines  to  be  taught."  "  Nay," 
says  our  author,  "  it  is  much  more  easy  to  judge  of  persons 
than  of  opinions."  True,  —  so  far  as  regards  their  moral 
qualities  ;  whether  they  be,  in  effect,  virtuous  or  dissolute, 
benevolent  or  selfish,  humane  or  cruel.  But  then,  unhappily, 
if  this  be  the  criterion,  it  is  just  none  at  all ;  for  men  charac 
terized  by  both  classes  of  qualities  are  to  be  found  in  all 
communions.  And,  as  it  is  most  evident  from  this  fact  that 
their  personal  qualities  would  be  no '  sufficient  guide,  so  it  is 
by  no  means  the  criterion  which  our  author  contemplates ; 
he  would  be  very  sorry  to  have  it  impartially  applied.  They 
are  quite  other  qualities  which  are  to  decide  the  point ;  and 
the  inquiry  into  these,  we  contend,  is  either  not  separable 
from  an  inquiry  into  the  truth  of  the  very  doctrines  taught, 
but  presupposes  that  inquiry  to  have  been  both  instituted  and 
decided  ;  or  it  is  an  inquiry  into  matters  still  more  difficult 
and  perplexing ;  —  for  example,  whether  or  not  the  clergy  of 
a  given  church  possess  the  inestimable  advantages  of  "  Apos 
tolical  succession."  In  the  present  divided  state  of  Chris 
tendom,  which,  it  may  be  asked,  is  the  more  hopeful  inquiry 
for  a  private  individual,  —  "  What  saith  the  Scripture  ?  "  or, 
"  Which  of  all  the  religious  teachers  who  claim  my  attention 
makes  the  most  rightful  pretensions  to  instruct  me  in  the  truth, 
—  I,  at  the  same  time,  neither  inquiring,  nor  being  permitted 
to  inquire,  what  that  truth  is  ?  "  For  it  must  be  remembered 
that  an  Episcopalian,  Presbyterian,  Independent,  Calvinist, 


RIGHT  OF  PRIVATE  JUDGMENT.  315 

or  Arminian,  is  not  a  trustworthy  teacher,  because  he  tells  us 
he  is ;  the  awful  privilege  of  "  Apostolical  succession  "  is  not 
inscribed  on  the  bishop's  forehead ;  no  voice  from  heaven 
certifies  to  us  that  those  whom  he  ordains  are  exclusively 
commissioned  to  preach  the  Gospel.  We  repeat,  therefore, 
that  this  liberty  of  "  private  judgment,"  if  really  acted  upon, 
implies  a  task  quite  as  difficult  as  that  for  which  it  is  substitut 
ed  :  in  a  word,  either  the  very  same,  —  that  of  examining 
the  pretensions  of  the  teacher  by  a  reference  to  his  doctrines  ; 
or  that  of  deciding  on  the  historic  grounds  of  his  authority, 
without  any  investigation  of  his  doctrine  at  all.  This  method, 
therefore,  would  not  serve  the  purpose  for  which  it  has  been 
invented ;  it  would  not  correct  the  eccentricities  or  diminish 
the  varieties  of  "  private  judgment."  Nay,  we  have  already 
facts  in  abundance  to  prove  this.  We  see  that  there  are  mul 
titudes  of  all  communions  who  select  their  teacher  on  no 
wiser  principle  than  that  here  advocated ;  without  any  inquiry 
into  the  truth  of  the  doctrines  taught,  or  the  teacher's  claim 
to  the  authority  he  assumes.  It  were  well  both  for  them  and 
for  truth,  if  they  would  exercise  also  the  other  and  better  part 
of  the  "  Right  of  Private  Judgment,"  and  diligently  inquire, 
whether  the  system  of  doctrines  taught  them  is  in  general 
accordance  with  truth,  and  the  claims  to  authority,  on  the 
teacher's  part,  well  founded.  It  does  not  appear,  then,  that 
this  limitation  of  the  "  Right  of  Private  Judgment "  would 
diminish  the  diversities  of  sect  and  party,  or  secure  a  nearer 
approximation  to  uniformity.* 

*  It  is  true  that  this  writer  points  out  some  concise  methods  of  limit 
ing  the  candidates  for  the  inquirer's  suffrage.  "  You  may  reject,"  says 
he,  "  all  who  do  not  even  profess  to  come  with  authority."  To  this  it 
may  be  replied,  first,  that  there  are  none  who  come  to  teach  without  pro 
fessing  authority  to  do  so,  and  that  in  general,  the  more  extravagant 
their  doctrine,  the  more  arrogant  their  pretensions ;  and  secondly,  that 
the  absence  of  those  exclusive  pretensions  to  which  he  refers  —  pretensions 
to  the  Apostolical  Succession  —  would  be  to  thousands  a  reason  rather 
for  admitting  than  rejecting  the  claims  of  a  teacher  who  came  to  them 
with  such  unwonted  humility .  But  even  according  to  this  writer,  there  are 


316  RIGHT    OF    PRIVATE    JUDGMENT. 

But  one  of  the  most  singular  oversights  is,  that  our  author 
formally  concedes  the  right  in  its  full  extent,  for  the  purpose 
of  ascertaining  whether  or  not  it  is  to  be  so  conceded.  "  We 
have  arrived,"  he  says,  with  great  solemnity  and  gravity, 
"at  the  following  conclusion,  that  it  is  our  duty  to  betake 
ourselves  to  Scripture,  and  to  observe  how  far  the  private 
search  of  a  religion  is  there  sanctioned,  and  under  what  cir 
cumstances  " !  We  are,  it  appears,  in  the  first  instance,  to 
make  the  most  extensive  use  of  our  "  Right  of  Private  Judg 
ment"  on  the  Scriptures,  in  order  to  ascertain  whether  or 
not  we  are  at  liberty  to  use  our  "  private  judgment  "  in  inter 
preting  its  doctrines  ;  in  other  words,  we  are  to  exercise  our 
"  private  judgment "  to  ascertain  whether  or  not  it  ought  to 
be  exercised ! 

Another  modification  of  the  theory  of  "  private  judgment  " 

at  least  three  churches,  which,  however  divided  on  points  which  multitudes 
deem  essential,  possess,  it  seems,  all  that  authority  which  is  necessary  to 
give  validity  to  the  claims  of  their  teachers.  These  churches  —  risum  tene- 
atis  ?  —  are  the  Romish,  Greek,  and  Anglican !  But  how  is  the  perplexed 
inquirer  to  decide  on  their  claims  ?  Very  easily,  if  we  fairly  follow  out 
this  writer's  principles ;  for,  partly  by  what  he  has  said,  and  partly  by 
what  he  has  left  us  to  infer,  it  does  not  much  matter  to  which  church  of 
the  three  a  man  belongs ;  and  as  each  is  possessed  of  those  mysterious 
"  gifts,"  depending  on  the  "  Succession,"  which  will  serve  to  countervail 
any  corruptions,  it  is  difficult  to  say  whether  there  are  any  reasons  suf 
ficient  to  justify  a  man  in  leaving  any  one  of  them  for  another.  It  is 
true,  indeed,  that  our  author  disclaims  all  intention  of  discussing  the 
question,  as  to  whether  there  are  reasons  which  can  justify  the  Catholic 
in  leaving  his  own  communion ;  but  it  is  plain,  from  what  he  has  said, 
how  he  would  decide  it,  and  how,  if  consistent  with  bis  principles,  he 
must  decide  it.  Indeed,  his  very  making  it  a  question  is  a  sufficient  indi 
cation  of  his  sentiments  ;  for  did  ever  Protestant  before  doubt  whether  it 
was  lawful  for  a  Catholic  to  leave  the  Church  of  Rome  ?  None,  assur 
edly,  can  doubt  it,  except  those  strange  Protestants  who  deplore  Protes 
tantism  itself,  and  who  use  their  utmost  efforts  to  show  how  much  the 
Churches  of  Rome  and  England  resemble  one  another  !  That  the  dif 
ference  between  them  is  not,  in  his  estimation,  very  great,  we  may  infer 
from  such  language  as  this  :  "  We  may  believe  that  our  own  church  has 
certain  imperfections ;  the  Church  of  Rome  certain  corruptions ;  such  a 


RIGHT    OF    PRIVATE    JUDGMENT.  317 

is  that  of  Mr.  Gladstone.  He  says  :  "  And,  lastly,  persons 
are  in  great  alarm  for  their  private  judgment.  The  true  doc 
trine  of  private  judgment  is,  as  has  been  shown  by  many 
writers,  most  important  and  most  sacred  ;  it  has  the  direct 
sanction  of  Scripture.  It  teaches  the  duty,  and,  as  correlative 
to  the  duty,  the  right,  of  a  man  to  assent  freely  and  rationally 
to  the  truth.  It  is  commonly  called  a  right  to  inquire  ;  but  it 
is  to  inquire  for  the  purpose  of  assenting  ;  for  he  has  no  right 
(that  is,  none  as  before  God)  to  reject  the  truth  after  his  in 
quiry.  It  is  a  right  to  assent  to  truth, —  to  inquire  into  alleged 
truth.  Now,  all  that  the  true  idea  of  the  Church  proposes  to 
him  is  a  probable  and  authorized  guide.  This  is  wholly  dis 
tinct  from  the  Romish  infallibility.  The  Church  of  England 
holds  individual  freedom  in  things  spiritual  to  be  an  essential 
attribute  of  man's  true  nature,  and  an  essential  condition  of 

belief  has  no  tendency  to  lead  us  to  any  view  as  to  which,  on  the  whole, 
is  the  better,  or  to  induce  or  warrant  us  to  leave  the  one  communion  for 
the  other."  Again  :  "  Is  it  not  certain,  even  at  first  sight,  that  each  of 
these  branches  (Romish,  Greek,  and  English)  has  many  high  gifts  and 
much  grace  in  her  communion  ?  "  Now,  whether  this  representation  be 
correct  or  not,  let  theologians  decide ;  but  so  far  from  "  its  being  evident 
at  first  sight,"  it  is  certain  that  nine  tenths  in  each  of  these  communions 
would,  in  the  exercise  of  that  "  Right  of  Private  Judgment  "  which  even 
he  concedes,  come  to  a  different  conclusion,  as  to  who  are  "  divinely 
appointed  teachers,"  from  himself.  Such  is  the  very  first  application  of 
this  new  theory  of  "  private  judgment,"  designed  to  limit  the  diversities 
of  opinion  ;  its  very  inventor  manages  to  stumble  on  a  "judgment,"  in 
which  not  ten  out  of  a  hundred  will  agree  with  him !  On  the  mani 
fold  inconsistencies  into  which  he  is  plunged  by  his  attempt  to  show  how 
nearly  these  churches  approximate,  and  yet  to  find  such  still  subsisting 
differences  as  may  justify  a  state  of  separation,  —  conceding  that  Rome 
does  not  practise  idolatry,  and  yet  discovering  that  there  is  a  note  of  idol 
atry  upon  her,  which  may  justify  him  who  is  already  a  Protestant  in  not 
joining  her,  —  maintaining  that  his  own  church  is  not  schismatic,  and 
yet  acknowledging  that  it  is  chargeable  with  something  very  like  schism; 
and  leaving  us  to  infer  that  the  Reformers  ought  never  to  have  separated 
from  the  Church  of  Rome,  —  of  all  this  we  shall  say  nothing,  because 
it  has  nothing  to  do  with  our  present  subject  But  as  a  specimen  of 
what  may  be  called  seesaw  logic,  it  is  well  worth  reading. 
27* 


318  RIGHT  OF  PRIVATE  JUDGMENT. 

the  right  reception  of  the  Gospel;  and  testifies  to  that  sentiment 
in  the  most  emphatic  mode,  by  encouraging  the  fullest  commu 
nication  of  Scripture  to  the  people.  Yet  is  it  perfectly  possi 
ble  that  the  best  use  of  such  a  freedom  may  often  be  thus  ex 
emplified  ;  when  a  man,  having  prayed  for  light  from  God, 
and  having  striven  to  live  in  the  spirit  of  his  prayer,  and  yet 
finding  his  own  opinion  upon  a  point  of  doctrine  opposite  to 
that  of  the  universal,  undivided  Church,  recognizes  the  answer 
to  his  prayer  and  the  guide  to  his  mind  in  the  declarations  of 
the  creeds,  rather  than  in  his  own  single,  and  perhaps  recent, 
impressions  upon  the  subject ;  not  thus  surrendering  his  own 
liberty  of  judgment,  but  using  it  in  order  to  weigh  and  com 
pare  the  probabilities  of  his  or  the  Church's  correctness  re 
spectively,  and  acting  faithfully  on  the  result.  " 

Here,  first,  we  have  the  old  fallacy.  "  Private  judgment " 
is,  indeed,  a  right ;  but  it  is  a  right  of  assenting  to  the  truth. 
But,  then,  who  is  to  be  the  judge  of  truth  ?  Is  the  individual 
conscience  to  assent  to  that  which  it  honestly  deems  truth,  or 
is  it  not  ?  If  the  former,  we  are  just  in  the  same  predica 
ment  as  before.  If  not,  what  is  the  authority  which  is  to  jus 
tify  it  in  setting  its  conviction  at  defiance  ?  "  Why,"  replies 
Mr.  Gladstone,  •"  the  voice  of  the  undivided  Church  "  must 
decide  the  matter.  To  this  we  might  content  ourselves  with 
replying  :  This  "  undivided  Church,"  amidst  the  ten  thou 
sand  parties  into  which  Christendom  is  divided,  we  cannot 
find  at  all ;  and  the  search  is  at  least  as  difficult  as  that  of  the 
truth  which  we  are  to  find  by  its  means.  It  is  like  telling  us 
that  we  are  to  learn  which  of  five  hundred  opinions  is  the 
true,  by  inquiring  of  some  inhabitant  of  Utopia.  But  the 
concluding  sentence  of  this  paragraph  deserves  more  serious 
animadversion.  Our  author  proposes  an  expedient  for  tran 
quillizing  a  scrupulous  conscience,  —  a  conscience  which 
finds  its  decisions  at  hopeless  variance  with  those  of  the  "  un 
divided  Church,"  —  which  is  (though  he  doubtless  meant  it 
not)  an  outrage  on  morality.  It  is  really  one  of  the  most  ex 
traordinary  pieces  of  casuistry  we  have  ever  met  with,  either 


RIGHT    OF   PRIVATE   JUDGMENT.  319 

in  ancient  or  modern  times,  and  directly  justifies  the  suppres 
sion  of  the  voice  of  conscience.  We  are  to  suppose,  for  ar 
gument's  sake,  that  the  inquirer  has  found  that  nonenity,  — 
the  "  undivided  Church."  Be  it  so ;  but  he  finds,  at  the 
same  time,  that  this  "  undivided  Church  "  teaches  a  doctrine 
as  true  which  he  is  persuaded  is  erroneous ;  and  enjoins  rites 
as  a  duty,  the  performance  of  which  he  believes  to  be  sin. 
What  is  he  to  do  ?  Is  he  at  liberty  to  profess  his  acquies 
cence  in  that  doctrine  though  he  believes  it  false,  or  to  per 
form  those  rites  though  he  believes  them  wrong  ?  "  Pray 
over  the  matter,  and  inquire,"  says  Mr.  Gladstone.  "  I  have 
done  both,"  replies  the  unhappy  man.  "  And  you  are  still 
of  the  same  mind  ?  "  "  Altogether."  "  But  do  you  not 
think  the  whole  undivided  Church  more  likely  to  be  in  the 
to  affirm  the  contrary."  "  Then  you  may,  without  further 
right  than  you  ?  "  "  I  am  not  so  destitute  of  modesty  as 
scruple,  proclaim  your  belief  in  the  supposed  error,  and  prac 
tise  the  forbidden  rite  ! "  So  thus,  it  appears,  the  man  may 
assent  to  one  proposition  which  he  deems  false,  because  he 
can  assent  to  another,  altogether  different,  which  he  believes 
true  ;  namely,  that  he  thinks  the  "  undivided  Church  "  more 
likely  to  be  in  the  right  than  he.  How  different  the  decision 
of  Mr.  Gladstone  from  that  of  Saint  Paul,  who  declares  that  a 
man  who  should  eat  meat  offered  to  idols,  with  a  conscience 
doubting  its  propriety,  would  sin;  though  the  Apostle  at 
the  same  time  declares  by  inspiration,  that  the  act,  in  itself, 
is  absolutely  indifferent.  Such  a  casuist  as  Mr.  Gladstone 
would  soon  have  administered  relief.  "  Do  you  not  think," 
he  would  say,  "  that  an  inspired  Apostle  is  more  likely  to  be 
in  the  right  than  you  ?  "  "  Who  can  doubt  it  ?  "  would  have 
been  the  reply.  "  Then  eat  as  soon  and  as  much  as  you 
please,"  Mr.  Gladstone  would  have  said  ;  unless  he  believed 
the  decision  of  an  inspired  Apostle  less  likely  to  be  the  true 
one  than  that  of  his  "  undivided  Church." 

We  are  astonished  at  this  doctrine,  we  confess,  and  doubt 
whether,  considering  the  difference  of  the  age  and  circum- 


320  EIGHT    OF    PRIVATE   JUDGMENT. 

stances,  any  thing  much  more  censurable  is  to  be  found  even 
among  those  Jesuitical  casuists,  whose  extravagances  Pascal 
so  inimitably  ridiculed.  Mr.  Gladstone's  doctrine  of  "  prob 
able  opinions "  would  almost  match  that  of  the  school  of 
Loyola;  and  we  are  half  inclined  to  say  of  him,  what  Pas 
cal's  Jesuit  Father  says  of  Escobar :  "  Truly  this  Escobar," 
said  I,  "  is  a  fine  man.  "  "  O,"  rejoined  the  Father,  "  every 
body  admires  him  ;  he  puts  such  lovely  questions  !  "  * 

But  what  Mr.  Gladstone,  with  congenial  love  of  obscurity, 
has  left  in  utter  darkness,  others  have  endeavored  to  clear  up. 
They  have  proceeded  to  furnish  us  with  criteria  of  the  undi 
vided  Church,  to  interpret  what  it  has  delivered,  and  to  invest 
its  decisions  with  a  species  of  infallibility.  But  let  it  not  be  for 
one  moment  imagined  that  we  are  at  all  likely  to  have  the  exer 
cise  of  the  "  Right  of  Private  Judgment "  diminished  by  all  this ; 
on  the  contrary,  it  is  enlarged  a  thousandfold.  The  theory  is, 
that  Scripture  is  incomplete ;  that  some  things  are  divinely 
revealed  which  are  not  revealed  there ;  that  it  is  to  be  sup 
plemented  by  tradition ;  and  that  whatever  we  find  unani 
mously  and  constantly  asserted  by  such  tradition,  is  invested 
with  an  authority  coordinate  with  that  of  Scripture.  Where 
upon  arise  an  infinity  of  questions,  any  one  of  which  is  as 
difficult  as  any  that  private  judgment  was  ever  called  upon  to 
decide ;  questions,  which  he  who  is  no  scholar  has  little 
chance  of  deciding,  except  by  lot,  for  the  authorities  are  very 
numerous  and  diametrically  contradictory  on  all  sides.  "Noth 
ing  is  more  easy,"  exclaims  the  Anglican  ;  "  all  you  have 
to  do  is  to  adhere  to  the  rule  of  Vincentius  Lirinensis, — 
Quod  semper,  quod  ubique,  quod  ab  omnibus  traditum  est. " 

*  "  Vraiment,  lui  dis-je,  il  me  semble  que  je  reve,  quand  j'entends 
des  Religieux  parler  de  cette  sorte.  Et  quoi,  mon  pere,  dites  moi  en 
conscience,  etes  vous  dans  ce  sentiment-la  ?  Non  vraiment,  me  dit  le 
pere.  Vous  parlez  done,  continuai-je,  centre  votre  conscience  ?  Point 
de  tout,  dit-il.  Je  ne  parlois  pas  en  cela  selon  ma  conscience,  mais  selon 
celle  de  Ponce  et  du  P.  Bauny ;  et  vous  pourriez  les  suivre  en  surete,  car 
ce  sont  d'habiles  gens." — Let.  Provinciales,  Let.  V. 


RIGHT    OF    PRIVATE    JUDGMENT. 

But  alas !  on  investigation,  it  is  found  that  "  nobody  "  knows 
what  "  every  body1'  has  said ;  that  what  has  been  affirmed 
"  everywhere  "  is  remembered  "  nowhere  " ;  and  that  the 
only  thing  to  which  all  time  has  testified  is  tempora  mutan- 
tur,  et  nos  mutamur  in  illis.  Whether  a  man  be  learned  or 
ignorant,  —  permitted  to  exercise  his  judgment  in  discover 
ing  these  obscured  verities  of  tradition  for  himself,  or  forbid 
den  so  to  do,  —  ample  in  either  case  is  the  scope  for  his  pri 
vate  judgment.  If  learned,  and  permitted  to  inquire,  the  luck 
less  student  finds  that,  instead  of  one  small  book,  he  is  sent  to 
five  hundred  ;  instead  of  having  to  deal  with  nothing  but  what 
is  truth,  truth  itself  is  presented  to  him  in  minute  fragments, 
amidst  mountain-loads  of  absurdity,  ignorance,  and  heresy. 
Then  there  are,  besides,  most  difficult  and  subtle  questions  of 
criticism  to  be  decided,  before  the  "very  materials  of  judgment 
can  be  laid  before  the  mind  ;  interpolations,  erasures,  forger 
ies  to  be  detected,  —  what  is  authentic  separated  from  what 
is  not,  —  in  a  word,  qu&stiones  vexata  without  end  to  be  ad 
justed.  Again  ;  at  what  point  is  the  investigation  to  stop  ? 
Is  it  at  the  end  of  the  second,  or  third,  or  fourth,  or  fifth  cen 
turies  ?  "  Stand  by  the  first  six  General  Councils,"  exclaim 
Hammond  and  Stillingfleet.  "  Stop  at  the  end  of  the  fifth 
century,"  says  Archbishop  Bramhall.  "  You  must  not  draw 
bridle  till  the  disunion  of  the  East  and  West,"  cries  Bishop 
Ken.  "  You  are  wrong,"  says  Archbishop  Usher ;  "  four  or 
five  hundred  years  are  sufficient."  "  Rather  three  or  four,"  say 
Waterland  and  Beveridge.  "  The  precise  limit  is  nowhere" 
says  Mr.  Newman  ;  "  it  is  a  question  of  degree  and  place." 
"  It  is  everywhere,"  shouts  the  more  consistent  Romanist. 
No  wonder  that,  oppressed  with  the  thought  of  such  an  exer 
cise  of  the  right  of  private  judgment,  the  inquirer  declares  he 
knows  not  how  to  perform  it.  "  My  friend,"  is  the  reply, 
"  you  have  only  to  read  through  about  a  hundred  and  fifty 
folios  of  ecclesiastical  records,  and  you  will  find  the  matter  is 
just  as  I  tell  you."  He  feels  that  this  is  but  meagre  con 
solation,  and,  if  intelligent,  will  declare,  that,  rather  than  un- 


322  RIGHT    OF    PRIVATE    JUDGMENT. 

dergo  such  labor  for  the  small  residuum  of  doubtful  truth  which 
he  is  assured  he  will  extract  from  it,  he  would  make  a  voy 
age  to  the  Indies  to  bring  home  a  cargo  of  one  peppercorn 
and  two  grains  of  rice  !  The  right  of  private  judgment,  in 
such  a  case,  he  feels  to  be  about  as  valuable  a  possession  as 
a  right  to  read  through  the  statutes  at  large.  The  Tractari- 
ans  may  very  safely  grant  it,  for  they  may  be  assured  no  one 
will  avail  himself  of  it.  If  the  man  be  ignorant,  or  forbidden 
to  inquire,  —  the  other  case  supposed,  —  he  has  only  to  be 
lieve.  But  let  it  not  be  imagined  that  he  is  not  still  subjected 
to  the  necessity  of  performing  an  impracticable  act  of  pri 
vate  judgment.  He  may  be  told  that  infallible  truth  has  been 
discovered,  and  that  the  priest  is  the  infallible  expounder  of  it. 
But,  then,  on  what  ground  shall  he  believe  this  ?  "  I  am  com 
missioned,"  says  the  priest.  "  But,"  will  be  the  reply,  "  I 
see  that  there  are  multitudes  of  your  own  church,  and  whom 
you  acknowledge  equally  commissioned  with  yourself,  who 
tell  me  that  you  are  under  an  absolute  delusion,  —  that  nei 
ther  you  nor  they  are  commissioned  to  assume  any  such  au 
thority,  —  that  tradition  is  no  authoritative  guide,  and  that,  if 
it  were,  what  it  authorizes  cannot  be  authentically  discovered. 
I  moreover  see  that  many  of  those  who  adopt  the  same  gen 
eral  principles  with  yourself,  differ  as  to  what  is  primitive  and 
catholic  truth.  I  can,  therefore,  regard  your  judgment  only 
as  your  c  private  judgment ' ;  and  the  knotty  question  which 
I  have  to  decide  is,  whether  I  am  to  surrender  my  '  pri 
vate  judgment '  because  your  *  private  judgment '  tells  me 
to  do  so,  when  the  '  private  judgment '  of  others,  equally 
learned,  equally  sincere,  and  equally  commissioned,  tells 
me  that  I  ought  not  ?  and,  as  I  have  no  data  whereon  to 
decide  this  question,  truly  I  think  a  harder  question  for  my 
private  judgment,  even  the  Scriptures  of  truth  could  scarcely 
have  submitted  to  it.  If  I  decide  as  you  would  have  me,  I 
decide  absolutely  without  any  reason  whatever."  "  And  is 
not  this,"  would  be  the  honest  reply,  "  is  not  this  the  happy 
state  of  mind  to  which  we  have  been  endeavoring  to  reduce 


RIGHT    OF    PRIVATE    JUDGMENT.  323 

you  ?  Have  we  not  for  years  been  urging  you  to  inquire 
whether  inquiry  be  not  dangerous  ?  —  have  we  not  been  rea 
soning  you  (in  our  way)  into  the  belief  that  reasoning  on 
such  subjects  is  unreasonable  1  And  have  we  not  endeavored 
to  illustrate  precept  by  example,  and  as  completely  divest 
ed  ourselves  of  all  the  attributes  of  a  rational  nature,  as  the 
ancient  caricature  of  Plato's  man  ?  Have  we  not  shown 
you,  in  our  own  case,  how  much  may  be  believed,  and  how 
little  it  is  necessary  to  reason  ?  "  * 

*  As  these  remarks  may  appear  severe,  we  shall  justify  ourselves  by 
citing  the  following  paragraphs  from  one  of  the  most  elaborate  and  dan 
gerous  of  the  Oxford  Tracts.  If  the  reader  find  it  impossible  to  read 
the  first  without  a  smile,  we  predict  that  he  will  not  be  able  to  read  the 
second  without  a  sigh ;  —  to  think  that  a  reasonable  being  can  talk  such 
nonsense.  "  I  am  not  here  to  enter  into  the  question  of  the  grounds  on 
which  the  duty  and  blessedness  of  believing  rests  ;  but  I  would  observe, 
that  nature  certainly  does  give  sentence  against  scepticism,  against  doubt  ? 
nay,  against  a  habit  (I  say  a  habit)  of  inquiry,  —  against  a  critical,  cold, 
investigating  temper,  —  the  temper  of  what  are  called  shrewd,  clear-head 
ed,  hard-headed  men ;  in  that,  by  the  confession  of  all,  happiness  is  at 
tached,  not  to  their  temper,  but  rather  to  confiding,  unreasoning  faith.  I 
do  not  say  that  inquiry  may  not,  under  circumstances,  be  a  duty,  as  going 
into  the  cold  and  rain  may  be  a  duty  instead  of  stopping  at  home ;  as 
serving  in  war  may  be  a  duty ;  but  it  does  seem  to  me  preposterous  to 
confess,  that  free  inquiry  leads  to  scepticism,  and  scepticism  makes  one 
less  happy  than  faith,  and  yet  that  such  free  inquiry  is  right.  What  is 
right  and  what  is  happy  cannot,  in  the  long  run  and  on  a  large  scale,  be 
disjoined.  To  follow  truth  can  never  be  a  subject  of  regret  ',free  inquiry 
does  lead  a  man  to  regret  the  days  of  his  childlike  faith;  —  THEREFORE  it 
is  not  following  truth.  Those  who  measure  every  thing  by  utility  should, 
on  their  own  principles,  embrace  the  obedience  of  faith  for  its  very  expe 
dience  ;  and  they  should  cease  this  kind  of  seeking,  that  they  may  find. 

"/say,  then,  that  never  to  have  been  troubled  with  a  doubt /about  the  truth  of 
what  has  been  taught  ws,  is  the  happiest  state  of  mind;  and  if  any  one  says, 
that  to  maintain  this  is  to  admit  that  heretics  ought  to  remain  heretics, 
and  pagans  pagans,  I  deny  it.  For  I  have  not  said  that  it  is  a  happy 
thing  nerer  to  add  to  what  you  have  learned,  but  not  happier  to  take 
away.  Now,  true  religion  is  the  summit  and  perfection  of  false  religions ; 
it  combines  in  one  whatever  there  is  of  good  and  true  separately  remain 
ing  in  each." "So  that,  in  matter  of  fact,  if  a  religious  mind 

were  educated  in,  and  sincerely  attached  to,  some  form  of  heathenism  or 


324  RIGHT   OF    PRIVATE   JUDGMENT. 

That  we  are  to  receive  with  cringing  acquiescence  what 
ever  such  men  are  pleased  to  say  they  are  commissioned  to 
teach  us,  will  be  more  than  doubted,  till  they  not  only  lay 
claim  to  virtual  infallibility,  but  persuade  us  to  admit  their 

heresy,  and  then  were  brought  under  the  light  of  truth,  it  would  be  drawn 
off  from  error  into  the  truth,  not  by  losing  what  it  had,  but  by  gaining 
what  it  had  not,  —  not  by  being  unclothed,  but  by  being  '  clothed  upon,' 
'  that  mortality  may  be  swallowed  up  of  life.'  That  same  principle  of 
faith  which  attaches  it  to  its  original  wrong  doctrine,  would  attach  it  to 
the  truth  ;  and  that  portion  of  its  original  doctrine  which  was  to  be  cast 
off  as  absolutely  false,  would  not  be  directly  rejected,  but  indirectly  re 
jected  in  the  reception  of  the  truth  which  is  its  opposite." 

The  writer  of  this  seriously  believes  that  unthinking  acquiescence  in 
whatever  we  are  told,  is  the  most  desirable  state  of  mind ;  and  that  the 
restlessness  produced  by  inquiry  affords  a  presumption,  that  what  is  of 
fered  to  us  is  error.  The  Hottentot,  who  is  contented  with  his  brutal  the 
ology,  had  better,  it  seems,  view  with  suspicion  the  uneasiness  of  mind 
produced  by  the  teachers  of  Christianity,  for  they  only  disturb  his  faith 
and  tranquillity,  —  an  ominous  sign  that  he  is  "  not  following  the  truth  "  ! 
"  Where  ignorance  is  bliss,  't  is  folly  to  be  wise."  "  Not  so,"  says  this 
profound  doctor,  "  for  I  have  not  said  that  he  is  not  to  add  to  his  belief, 
only  he  must  be  careful  not  to  take  away ;  he  must  become  a  Christian, 
not  by  losing  what  he  had,  but  by  gaining  what  he  had  not ! "  Was  ever 
fatuity  like  this  ?  The  Hottentot,  when  he  embraces  Christianity,  it  ap 
pears,  only  adds  to  his  faith,  but  does  not  take  any  away  !  Are  we  to 
believe  that,  if  these  new  evangelists  were  to  attempt  the  conversion  of 
the  heathen,  they  would  act  on  the  above  maxims,  and  facilitate  the 
work,  as  did  the  Romish  missionaries  among  the  Japanese,  by  teaching 
their  converts  to  transfer  their  whole  idolatrous  stock  in  trade  to  Chris 
tianity,  —  to  make  over  to  the  saints  the  homage  they  once  paid  to  idols, 
and  baptize  their  wooden  gods  by  evangelical  names  ?  What  must  be 
the  desperation  of  a  cause  which  stands  in  need  of  such  arguments  ? 
Arguments  !  they  do  not  even  reach  the  respectability  of  sophistry.  Are 
we  not  justified,  then,  in  saying  that  these  new  teachers  enjoin  a  servile 
and  unreasoning  belief,  —  the  utter  prostration  of  the  intellect  ?  And 
does  not  such  a  paragraph  as  the  above,  prove  that  what  they  teach  they 
are  full  willing  to  practise  ?  The  reader  will  find  the  same  lesson  per 
petually  inculcated,  with  various  degrees  of  effrontery,  throughout  the 
Oxford  Tracts.  According  to  these  men,  one  would  think  that  it  was 
so  much  a  duty  to  distrust  our  reason,  that  mystery  is  an  antecedent 
ground  of  probability ;  and  that,  if  a  doctrine  be  absolutely  incompre 
hensible,  it  is  almost  certain  to  be  true  ! 


RIGHT    OF    PRIVATE   JUDGMENT.  325 

claim.  The  latter  they  will  do  when  they  have  perfected  us 
in  the  grand  art  of  abjuring  our  reason  ;  in  the  former  they 
seem  ready  to  accommodate  us  at  any  time.  But  unhappily 
for  their  pretensions,  though  happily  for  truth,  their  virtual 
claim  to  infallibility  and  unquestioning  obedience  is  not,  like 
that  of  Rome,  unanimously  and  vigorously  supported  by  the 
whole  communion  to  which  they  belong.  Even  if  it  were, 
such  unity  would  not  (as  already  shown)  relieve  the  difficul 
ties  of  the  inquirer ;  for  as  another  church  makes  the  same 
pretensions,  the  knotty  query  would  still  return,  "  Of  two 
churches,  both  professing  infallibility,  which  is  the  more 
likely  to  be  infallible  ?  "  ,  • 

But  such  unanimity  of  pretensions,  whether  it  be  of  any 
avail  or  not,  is  not  to  be  found.  "  Quis  custodiet  ipsos  cus- 
todes  1  "  The  disease  of  "  Private  Judgment "  has  infected 
the  shepherds  as  well  as  the  flock  ;  all  the  difficulties  which, 
as  we  have  shown,  so  closely  beset  the  private  student  in  the 
attempt  to  collect  Catholic  truth  fromthe  voluminous  records 
of  antiquity,  have  been  felt  by  these  authorized  guides  them 
selves  ;  and  have  led  to  all  those  varieties  of  opinion  which 
might  have  been  expected.  In  this  point  of  view,  the  recent 
attempt  at  producing  unity  of  opinion,  and  abridging  the  di 
versities  of  "  private  judgment,"  is  even  ludicrous.  Never, 
since  the  Reformation,  has  there  been  such  a  din  of  contro 
versy  ;  —  such  a  hubbub  of  tumultuous  and  discordant  voices. 
Ill-fated  project  of  universal  concord,  which  terminates  in  the 
indefinite  multiplication  of  controversies  !  It  really  reminds 
one  of  the  ambitious  attempt,  described  in  the  "  Sketch-Book," 
at  a  new  and  elaborate  harmony  on  the  part  of  Master  Simon 
and  his  village  choristers.  "  The  usual  services  of  the  choir," 

says  the  author,  "  were  managed  pretty  well, but 

the  great  trial  was  an  anthem  that  had  been  prepared  and  ar 
ranged  by  Master  Simon,  and  on  which  he  had  founded  great 
expectations.  Unluckily  there  was  a  blunder  at  the  very  out 
set  ;  the  musicians  became  flurried  ;  Master  Simon  was  in  a 
fever ;  every  thing  went  on  lamely  and  irregularly,  until  they 
28 


326  RIGHT    OF   PRIVATE   JUDGMENT. 

came  to  a  chorus  beginning,  '  Now  let  us  sing  with  one  ac 
cord,'  which  seemed  to  be  a  signal  for  parting  company,  and 
all  became  discord  and  confusion."  Even  thus  is  it  on  the 
present  occasion ;  our  very  ears  ache  with  the  elaborate  dis 
sonance  of  this  novel  attempt  at  harmony. 

There  is  one  point,  and  but  one,  in  which  the  circumstan 
ces  attending  this  alleged  attempt  to  restore  "  primitive  truth  " 
resemble  those  attending  its  first  establishment ;  and  in  that 
we  must  confess  the  analogy  to  be  perfect.  These  new 
teachers  have  come,  "  not  to  bring  peace  on  the  earth,  but 
a  sword." 

Manifold  are  thfe  arguments  in  favor  of  the  "  Right  of  Pri 
vate  Judgment "  on  which  we  have  not  insisted,  and  on  which, 
at  this  period  of  the  world's  history,  it  would  be  most  superflu 
ous  to  dwell.  Those,  of  course,  which  have  been  mentioned 
as  demonstrating  the  wickedness  and  folly  of  persecution, 
are  in  favor  of  it,  —  for  whatever  tends  to  prove  the  one 
wrong,  tends  to  prove  the  other  right.  To  these  many  more 
might  be  added ;  some  deduced  from  the  intellectual  and 
moral  nature  of  man,  others  from  the  relations  in  which  he 
stands  to  God  :  some  from  the  declarations  of  Scripture, 
others  from  the  examples  it  holds  out  to  our  imitation  :  some 
from  abstract  justice,  and  others  from  an  enlarged  expedien 
cy.  The  arguments  on  which  we  have  principally  insisted 
are,  that  the  right  must  in  fact  be  conceded,  whether  we  like 
it  or  not ;  that  the  evils  with  which  it  is  supposed  to  be  con 
nected,  be  they  greater  or  less,  are  not  likely  to  be  remedied 
till  we  find  what  we  shall  be  long  in  seeking, — an  infallible  in 
terpreter  of  infallible  truth  ;  and  that  any  theory  short  of  that 
involves  a  flagitious  tampering  with  the  rights  of  conscience. 

On  this  last  argument,  which  we  have  already  noticed,  we 
should  wish  to  add  a  remark  or  two ;  for  this  alone  would  be 
sufficient  to  prove  the  folly  of  attempting  to  circumscribe  the 
Right  in  question.  If  it  be  man's  duty  to  embrace  the 
truth  ;  and  if  it  be  also  his  duty,  which  necessarily  follows, 
to  embrace  that  which  he  honestly  deems  the  truth,  he  must 


RIGHT    OF    PRIVATE   JUDGMENT.  327 

follow  his  convictions  whithersoever  they  lead  him,  in  spite 
of  any  authority  whatsoever  not  admitted  by  him  to  be  in 
fallible  ;  in  that  case,  of  course,  doubt  or  denial  would  im 
ply  a  contradiction  of  his  own  convictions.  It  is  not  at  the 
option  of  a  conscientious  man,  —  no  matter  how  he  came  by 
his  conscience,  —  to  debate  whether  he  shall  act  upon  its 
convictions.  He  cannot  do  otherwise.  Take  the  case  of  a 
man  who  believes  in  his  conscience  that  such  and  such  doc 
trines  are  false,  such  and  such  rites  sinful.  Right  or  wrong, 
this  is  his  state  of  mind.  What  is  he  to  do  ?  Can  any  au 
thorize  him  to  profess  that  these  doctrines  are  true,  or  to  prac 
tise  those  rites  ?  If  any  one  will  answer. in  the  affirmative, 
he  will  say  more  than  any  casuists,  ancient  or  modern,  out  of 
the  school  of  the  Jesuits,  will  expressly  affirm.  He  is  bound, 
then,  to  yield  obedience  to  the  dictates  of  his  conscience, 
whether  his  opinions  be  true  or  false :  if  true,  even  our  oppo 
nents  will  not  say  that  he  can  be  authorized  to  profess  the 
contrary.  Nor  is  it  otherwise,  supposing  them  erroneous  ; 
for  by  the  express  authority  of  Saint  Paul,  (who  declares 
that  u  to  him  who  thinketh  any  thing  evil  "  it  is  so,  and  that 
even  a  perfectly  indifferent  act  assumes  a  moral  malignity  if 
performed  with  a  reluctant  or  accusing  conscience,)  as  well 
as  by  the  decision  of  all  the  best  moralists  and  casuists,  an 
erroneous  conscience  obliges  as  much  as  a  well-informed 
one  ;  and  by  none  is  this  more  strenuously  maintained  than 
by  the  great  Divines  of  the  Church  of  England.* 

*  It  is  asserted  by  Jeremy  Taylor  in  his  "  Ductor  Dubitantium";  by 
Barrow  in  his  Latin  poem,  entitled  "  Conscientia  erronea  obligat";  and 
by  Archbishop  Sharp,  cited  by  Locke.  Stillingfleet  says  :  "  The  plea  of 
an  erroneous  conscience  takes  not  off  the  obligation  to  follow  the  dic 
tates  of  it ;  for  as  a  man  is  bound  to  lay  it  down  supposing  it  erroneous, 

so  he  is  bound  not  to  go  against  it  while  it  is  not  laid  down So 

that  let  men  turn  and  shift  about  which  way  they  will,  by  the  very  same 
arguments  that  any  will  prove  separation  from  the  Church  of  Rome 
lawful,  because  she  requires  unlawful  things  as  conditions  of  her 
communion,  it  will  be  proved  lawful  not  to  conform  to  any  suspected 
or  unlawful  practice  required  by  any  church  governors  upon  the  same 


328  RIGHT    OF    PRIVATE   JUDGMENT. 

The  usual  evasion  is,  "  Let  him  further  inquire  " ;  and 
wise  counsel  this  may  be,  in  the  first  instance.  But  suppose 
a  person  says  he  has  inquired,  or  that  he  inquires  again,  and 
comes  back  in  the  same  mind.  What  is  he  to  do  ?  He  will 
say  that  he  cannot  be  inquiring  for  ever,  —  that  religion  is  a 
practical  thing,  and  must  not  be  matter  of  investigation  all 
his  days,  —  that  he  may  as  well  embrace  error  as  live  in  a 
state  of  continual  pyrrhonism,  —  and  that  he  has  no  reason 
to  expect  that  he  will  ever  have  a  greater  moral  certainty  than 
he  has.  Once  more,  then,  we  demand,  What  is  he  to  do  ? 
Right  or  wrong,  he  must  follow  the  convictions  of  his  con 
science,  —  to  him  the  supreme  law. 

It  is  true  that,  after  all,  the  individual  may  be  much  to 
blame  ;  but  not  for  thus  acting  in  obedience  to  the  dictates  of 
his  conscience  in  the  last  resort.  There  may  have  been  haste 
in  the  inquiry,  —  or  no  inquiry  at  all  when  urged  to  make  it,  — 
or  unworthy  passions  and  prepossessions  in  favor  of  such  and 
such  conclusions.  In  these  respects  there  may  be  much  to 
blame,  but  not  in  the  act  of  obedience  to  conscience  itself.  On 
the  other  hand,  —  if,  rare  case  !  there  has  been  nothing  want 
ing  in  the  process  of  inquiry  which  honesty  and  diligence  could 
supply, — no  negligence,  no  want  of  candor  or  patience,  the 
man  is  guiltless,  even  supposing  the  opinion  erroneous,  unless 
we  suppose  God  to  punish  error  absolutely  and  wholly  invol 
untary.  If,  then,  a  maij  can  truly  say,  "  I  believe  in  my 
conscience  such  and  such  religious  doctrines  are  God's  truth, 
and  such  and  such  religious  usages  most  pleasing  to  him,"  it 

terms ;  —  if  the  thing  so  required  be,  after  serious  and  sober  inquiry, 
judged  unwarrantable  by  a  man's  own  conscience." 

"If,"  says  Chillingworth,  in  his  strong  manner,  "they  suffer  them 
selves  neither  to  bee  betraid  into  their  errors,  nor  kept  in  them  by  any 
sin  of  their  will ;  if  they  doe  their  best  endeavour  to  free  themselves  from 
all  errors,  and  yet  faile  of  it  through  humaine  frailty  ;  so  well  am  I  per- 
swaded  of  the  goodnesse  of  God,  that  if  in  me  alone  should  meet  a  con 
fluence  of  all  such  errors  of  all  the  Protestants  in  the  world  that  were 
thus  qualified,  I  should  not  be  so  much  afraid  of  them  all  as  I  should  be 
to  ask  pardon  for  them." 


EIGHT  OF  PRIVATE  JUDGMENT.  329 

is  no  longer  at  his  option  whether  he  shall  profess  the  one  or 
practise  the  other ;  and  in  like  manner,  if  he  can  truly  say, 
"  I  believe  in  my  conscience  such  and  such  doctrines  are 
false,  and  such  and  such  usages  displeasing  to  God,"  it  is 
not  in  his  power  even  to  appear  to  sanction  either.  He  must 
obey  that  which  is  his  law,  —  his  conscience  ;  in  other  words, 
if  his  private  judgment  be  at  variance  with  any  authority 
whatever,  not  admitted  to  be  infallible,  he  must  obey  the  first 
and  not  the  second.  To  this  there  is  no  exception. 

It  is  not  easy  to  find  men  who  will  avowedly  dispute  the 
rrraxim  here  laid  down.  The  opponent  generally  contents 
himself  with  daring  those  who  maintain  it  to  apply  it  to  cer 
tain  extreme  cases.  We  should  not  shrink  from  the  chal 
lenge.  We  believe  that  the  general  principle  is  universally 
applicable  ;  and  that  the  instances  which  seem  opposed  are 
either  imaginary  or  irrelevant.  Let  us  take  the  strongest 
conceivable  cases,  which,  however  absurd,  some  have  been 
modest  and  reasonable  enough  to  adduce,  —  that,  for  exam 
ple,  of  a  man  who  is  supposed  to  be  conscientiously  prompted 
to  commit  murder  or  robbery.  "  Is  the  man,"  they  trium 
phantly  ask,  "  to  be  justified,  and  treated  as  innocent  ?  "  To 
this,  the  arguments  in  reply  are  many  and  obvious.  First, 
if  we  are  to  suppose  that  such  conscientious  persons  are  im 
pelled  by  conscience  to  commit  murder  or  robbery  as  such,  — 
that  is,  under  the  persuasion  of  their  being  crimes,  —  then, 
1.  The  notion  is  simply  a  contradiction.  2.  Such  a  case,  so 
far  as  we  are  aware,  has  never  been  alleged,  and  might 
safely  be  left  to  be  considered  when  it  occurs.  3.  Supposing 
such  a  case  to  be  alleged,  all  mankind  would  feel  constrained, 
on  ordinary  calculations  of  probability,  to  believe  either  that 
the  parties  were  mad,  and  therefore  truly  excused  on  that 
ground,  or  that  they  pretended  to  hold  such  a  singular  creed 
for  an  evil  purpose.  They  would,  therefore,  be  either  con 
fined  as  lunatics,  or  punished  as  knaves,  according  to  the 
evidence  of  their  being  the  one  or  the  other.  4.  Whether 
they  be  conscientious  or  not,  society  must  protect  every  one 
28* 


330  RIGHT    OF    PRIVATE   JUDGMENT. 

against  any  infraction  of  his  civil  rights  ;  and,  for  this  reason, 
the  conscientious  persons  who  manifest  their  piety  by  infring 
ing  them,  may  be  very  properly  knocked  on  the  head.  "The 
magistrate,"  says  Bayle,  with  a  gravity  which  is  almost 
amusing,  "  having  received  a  power  from  God  and  man,  of 
putting  murderers  to  death,  may  justly  punish  him  who  kills  a 
man  from  the  instincts  of  conscience  ;  for  it  is  not  his  busi 
ness  to  stand  winnowing  those  rare  and  singular  cases,  in 
which  conscience  may  happen  to  fall  into  illusions  in  this 
matter."  But,  secondly,  if  by  those  who  commit  murder  or 
robbeiy  for  conscience'  sake  be  meant  those  who  commit 
acts,  which,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  they  themselves 
would  consider  crimes,  but  which,  in  their  judgment,  cease 
to  be  so  when  performed  at  the  prompting  of  conscience,  — 
for  the  repression,  for  example,  of  other  people's  consciences, 
or  for  the  propagation  of  "  the  true  faith,"  —  we  might  con 
tent  ourselves  with  replying,  1.  That  we  never  heard  of  such 
cases  among  those  who  contend  that  conscience  is  the  su 
preme  law,  and  that  every  one  must  obey  its  dictates.  All 
who  believe  this  necessarily  learn  to  respect  other  people's 
rights,  as  well  as  to  assert  their  own ;  it  is  only  amongst 
those  who  deny  this  maxim,  that  we  find  such  instances  as 
the  above  ;  and  we  might  safely  leave  the  objectors,  there 
fore,  to  their  own  dark  books  of  casuistry,  in  which  the  pre 
cise  modes  and  degrees  in  which  they  may  "  do  evil  that 
good  may  come,"  are  duly  set  forth.  Assuredly,  it  is  rather 
hard  to  adduce,  against  the  operation  of  any  principle,  in 
stances  which,  if  that  principle  were  in  operation,  could  not 
even  exist.  Nevertheless,  we  are  ready  to  affirm,  2.  That 
if  the  said  persecutors  be  truly  and  conscientiously  convinced 
that  it  is  their  duty,  as  in  the  sight  of  God,  to  persecute, 
they  are  justified  in  so  doing  while  in  that  state  of  mind  ; 
though,  in  accordance  with  what  has  been  laid  down,  they 
may  have  contracted  a  great  amount  of  guilt  in  the  process 
by  which  they  have  arrived  at  it.  3.  That  if  they  have  ar 
rived  at  it  after  having  honestly  investigated  the  subject,  and 


RIGHT  OF  PRIVATE  JUDGMENT.  331 

without  any  voluntary  error  or  self-deception,  —  though  we 
have  our  doubts  whether  there  ever  was  such  a  case, — 
they  are  wholly  innocent ;  but,  4.  That,  as  they  are  in 
fringing  other  people's  civil  rights,  though  they  do  not  think 
so,  it  is  perfectly  competent  to  those  upon  whom  they  are 
exercising  their  freaks  of  eccentric  piety,  to  deal  with  them 
as  with  the  aforesaid  conscientious  criminals  ;  and  punish 
them,  (if  they  have  the  power,)  not  for  tormenting  men 
from  the  best  possible  motives,  but  for  tormenting  them,  — 
those  who  are  de  facto  "  tormented  "  not  being  capable  of 
understanding  such  refined  distinctions. 

Thus  the  principle  advocated  is  liable  to  no  abuse,  nor 
does  society  lose  any  one  of  its  present  safeguards  by  its 
universal  adoption.  But  even  were  it  otherwise,  whether 
would  it  be  preferable,  —  that  one  man  in  a  century  should 
go  unpunished,  because,  under  a  peculiar  species  of  hallu 
cination,  he  professed  himself  conscientiously  impelled  to 
perpetrate  moral  wrong  ;  or  that  we  should  recognize  a  prin 
ciple  which  would  justify  the  perpetual  and  universal  oppres 
sion  of  conscience  for  speculative  opinions  ? 

In  fact,  however,  nothing  can  be  more  ridiculous  than  to 
profess  any  alarm  lest  mankind  should  plead  conscience  in 
favor  of  the  violation  of  any  of  the  laws  of  practical  morals. 
In  these  there  has  ever  been,  and  ever  will  be,  a  remarkable 
unanimity.  As  Bayle  has  well  said,  "  We  are  all  agreed 
about  the  doctrines  which  teach  men  to  live  soberly  and 
righteously,  to  love  God,  to  abstain  from  revenge,  to  forgive 
our  enemies,  to  render  good  for  evil,  to  be  charitable.  We 
are  divided  about  points  which  tend  not  to  make  the  yoke  of 
Christian  morality  either  heavier  or  lighter.  The  Papists  be 
lieve  transubstantiation  ;  the  Reformed  believe  it  not.  This 
makes  not  for  vice  one  way  or  other."  To  the  same  pur 
port,  a  very  different  writer,  Robert  Hall,  has  observed  : 
44  The  doctrines  of  our  holy  religion  may  be  wofully  cur 
tailed  and  corrupted,  and  its  profession  sink  into  formality  ; 
but  its  moral  precepts  are  so  plain  and  striking,  and  guarded 


332  RIGHT  OF  PRIVATE  JUDGMENT. 

by  such  clear  and  awful  sanctions,  as  to  render  it  impossible 
it  can  ever  be  converted  into  an  active  instrument  of  vice. 
Let  the  appeal  be  made  to  facts.  Look  through  all  the  dif 
ferent  sects  and  parties  into  which  professed  Christians  are 
unhappily  divided.  Where  is  there  one  to  be  found  who  has 
innovated  in  the  rule  of  life,  by  substituting  vice  in  the  place 
of  virtue  ?  "  We  may  safely  restrict  ourselves,  therefore, 
to  the  case  of  speculative  opinions  ;  and  we  will  take  the 
strongest.  It  may  be  said,  "  Is  a  man,  conscientiously  con 
vinced  that  the  Bible  is  false,  no  longer  bound  to  believe  it  ?  " 
We  answer,  he  has  a  prior  duty  to  perform.  To  believe 
the  Bible  true,  in  that  very  state  of  mind  in  which  he  believes 
it  false,  is  a  simple  impossibility,  and  therefore  not  directly 
his  duty.  But  it  is  his  duty  to  inquire  ;  and  we  put  sufficient 
faith  in  the  variety  and  conclusiveness  of  the  evidences  of 
its  truth,  to  believe  that,  if  he  inquire  honestly,  he  will  believe 
it  true.  If  there  be  a  case  of  one  who  has  thus  honestly  in 
quired,  and  still  conscientiously  believes  it  false,  —  if  he  can 
truly  allege  that  he  has  left  no  means  of  investigation  unem 
ployed,  and  suffered  no  prejudice  to  interfere  with  his  judg 
ment, —  we  shall  rather  choose  to  believe  that  he  labors 
under  some -invincible  obliquity  of  intellect,  which  in  the  eye 
of  the  Omniscient  renders  his  error  innocent,  than  admit  the 
monstrous  dogma,  that  he  incurs  guilt  for  error  absolutely 
involuntary.  But  whether  there  be  such  a  case  is  quite  an 
other  question. 

We  maintain,  then,  the  principle  asserted  by  the  illustri 
ous  writers  already  cited,  —  and  we  apply  it  consistently  and 
universally. 

By  the  assertion  of  this  principle,  we  are  far  from  justify 
ing  separation  from  any  religious  communion,  merely  be 
cause  there  are  some  things  we  disapprove,  or  may  wish  oth 
erwise.  If  this  were  acted  upon,  there  would  be  as  many 
sects  as  individuals  :  we  merely  contend,  that,  wrhen  such 
objections  have  assumed  the  form  of  conscientious  scruples, 
so  that  he  who  feels  them  can  honestly  say,  "  In  my  opinion 


RIGHT  OF  PRIVATE  JUDGMENT.  333 

I  cannot  profess  such  a  doctrine,  or  practise  such  a  rite,  or 
appear  to  sanction  either  the  one  or  the  other,  without  offend 
ing  God,  or  fearing  lest  I  should  do  so,"  —  his  separation  is  not 
only  justified,  but  necessitated.  Be  it  about  the  most  insig- ' 
nificant  matter  that  ever  disturbed  a  "  weak  brother,"  it  mat 
ters  not ;  for  while  in  that  condition  it  is  not  insignificant  to 
him.  If  actually  in  the  wrong,  still  it  appears  to  him  that  he 
is  in  the  right ; '  and  while  in  that  state  he  must  act  in  har 
mony  with  his  convictions. 

People  have  not  been  slow  to  acknowledge  this  doctrine 
in  words  ;  but  they  need  to  be  reminded  of  it,  since  they  will 
not  fairly  act  upon  it.  They  will  still  charge  the  Separatist, 
even  the  conscientious  Separatist,  with  "  sin,"  —  forgetting 
that,  in  doing  so,  they  not  only  assume  that  they  infallibly 
know  his  opinions  to  be  erroneous,  which  (if  their  modesty 
be  no  obstacle,  and  it  seldom  is)  they  have  a  perfect  right  to 
do  ;  but  that,  whether  right  or  wrong,  there  has  been  negli 
gence,  want  of  candor,  or  some  sinister  bias  in  the  process 
by  which  he  has  arrived  at  them  ;  and  this  no  man  has  a  right 
to  assume  unless  he  has  the  prerogative  "  of  discerning  spir 
its."  We  were  particularly  amused  with  an  example  of  this 
sort  of  inconsistency  in  one  of  the  "  Oxford  Tracts,"  *  in 
which,  while  it  is  admitted  that  the  conscientious  Dissenter  is 
not  necessarily  a  "  sinner,"  still  it  remains  true  that  his  dis 
sent  is  a  "  sin."  We  can  imagine  the  perplexity  of  one  who, 
meditating  the  crime  of  nonconformity,  comes  to  a  clergy 
man  professing  these  delightfully  puzzling  doctrines  for  so 
lution  of  his  doubts  and  difficulties.  "  Can  I,"  h'e  might  say, 
"  separate  from  the  Church  of  England  without 4  sin ' ;  see 
ing  that  I  cannot  affirm  what  she  affirms,  nor  practise  what 
she  enjoins,  without,  in  my  opinion,  committing  a  sin  ?  " 
"  If  that  be  the  state  of  your  conscience,"  would  be  the  re 
ply,  "  you  cannot  belong  to  the  Church  of  England  ;  but 
remember,  that  neither  can  you  secede  from  her  without 

*  No.  LI. 


334  RIGHT  OF  PRIVATE  JUDGMENT. 

sin."  "  Why,  then,  I  am  in  a  hopeful  case,"  rejoins  the 
miserable  recusant ;  "  I  am  ruined  either  way  ;  for  whether 
I  remain  in  the  church,  or  go  out  of  it,  —  and  one  of  them  I 
must  do,  —  I  commit  a  sin."  Then  how  glad  will  his  spirit 
ual  adviser  be  to  administer  that  consolation,  which  his  re 
vered  teachers  of  Oxford  have,  for  this  very  case,  made 
and  provided !  He  will  say,  "  You  must  distinguish  here  : 
Though  you  cannot  secede  from  us  without  sin,  yet  it  does 
not  hence  follow  that  you  are  a  sinner."  On  this  his  coun 
tenance  brightens  up,  and  he  is  most  eager  to  learn  that  aus 
picious  doctrine,  by  which  it  appears  that  a  man  may  commit 
a  sin  and  yet  be  no  sinner.  Whereupon  his  oracle  cites  the 
ipsissima  verba  of  the  "  Tracts,"  and  responds  :  "  To  say 
that  a  particular  thing  is  a  sin,  is  a  very  different  thing  from 

saying  that  every  one  who  does  it  is  a  sinner To 

kill  a  fellow-creature  is  undoubtedly  a  crime  ;  but  you  would 
not  say  that  the  person  who  killed  another  by  accident,  or  in 
defence  of  his  country  or  of  his  own  life,  or  by  command  of 
lawful  authorities,  is  a  criminal  ?  "  *  No,  would  be  the  easy 
reply  ;  neither  should  we  say,  in  that  case,  that  killing  was  a 
crime.  By  parity  of  reasoning,  if  the  conscientious  Dissenter 
be  no  sinner  for  dissent,  it  can  only  be  because  dissent,  in 
that  case,  is  no  sin.  You  ought  upon  your  principle  to  say, 
that  the  executioner,  in  hanging  a  man,  commits  a  crime, 
though  it  is  true  he  is  no  criminal !  This  distinction,  there 
fore,  will  not  much  help  the  recusant ;  and  he  is  still  left  to 
decide  the  miserable  alternative  —  of  sinning  by  remaining  in 
the  church,  or  sinning  by  going  out  of  it. 

But  we  must  conclude  ;  and  we  shall  do  so  with  a  few 
reflections  of  a  general  nature  on  the  advantages  of  the 
"  Right  of  Private  Judgment "  ;  amongst  which,  with  some 
risk  of  being  charged  with  paradox,  we  shall  venture  to  enu 
merate  many  of  its  reputed  "  evils." 

Whatever  the  evils  incidental  to  the  Right,  —  and  we  by 

*  Oxford  Tracts,  No.  LI.  p.  3. 


RIGHT   OF    PRIVATE   JUDGMENT.  335 

no  means  deny  that  there  are  evils,  —  they  are  trivial  com 
pared  to  the  advantages  it  secures.  It  frees  us  at  once  from 
every  form  and  degree  of  persecution  ;  it  leaves  inviolate 
the  supremacy  over  conscience  to  Him  who  alone  is  its  fit 
ting  and  rightful  Sovereign  ;  it  permits  the  conscience  itself 
to  move  freely  in  obedience  to  its  essential  laws  ;  it  secures 
for  the  propagation  of  truth  the  only  weapons  which  she  can 
successfully  employ,  argument  and  persuasion  ;  and  it  robs 
error  of  the  only  weapons  she  can  successfully  employ, 
penalties  and  violence  :  in  a  word,  it  prevents  truth  from  re 
sorting  to  that  in  which  alone  she  is  weak,  and  error  from 
resorting  to  that  in  which  alone  she  is  strong.  But  further, 
to  a  philosophic  mind,  which  calmly  and  soberly  considers 
the  subject,  there  will  always  be  reason  to  doubt  whether 
even  what  we  call  the  evils  incidental  to  the  exercise  of 
"  private  judgment"  are  so  in  reality;  and  whether  they  are 
not  connected  directly  or  indirectly  with  more  than  a  coun 
terbalancing  amount  of  good. 

To  confine  ourselves  to  the  common  argument  against  the 
exercise  of  the  "  Right "  derived  from  the  various  interpre 
tations  of  the  Scriptures,  —  we  are  by  no  means  convinced 
that  absolute  unity  of  opinion  would  be  a  benefit  at  all. 
"If,  as  we  devoutly  believe,  an  honest  investigation  of  their 
contents  will  in  general  secure  even  to  the  humblest  a  knowl 
edge  of  all  that  is  essential  to  salvation,  the  exercise  of  the 
right  is  vindicated  ;  unless  it  be  pretended  that  it  is  a  dreadful 
evil  that  men  should  differ  on  points  which  are  not  essential 
to  their  salvation.  Now,  that  there  has  ever  been  a  remarka 
ble  concurrence  of  opinion  with  regard  to  the  most  important 
doctrines,  is  undeniable.  The  only  question  therefore  is, 
whether  the  remaining  differences  may  not  be  connected  with 
advantages  greater  than  would  accrue  from  absolute  uniform 
ity  of  opinion.  This  we  do  not  think  it  difficult  to  prove. 

That  the  Scriptures  should  be  attended  with  difficulties, 
was  fit,  probably  inevitable,  in  itself;  that  those  difficulties 
should  lead  to  varieties  of  opinion,  was  an  incidental  result 


336  RIGHT    OF   PRIVATE   JUDGMENT. 

of  the  prevailing  reasons  which  induced  the  Divine  Author 
to  leave  them  on  its  pages.  Such  reasons  we  may  readily 
discover. 

With  an  overbalance  of  evidence  in  behalf  of  the  author 
ity  of  the  Bible  generally,  and  of  its  more  important  revela 
tions,  it  was  still  not  desirable  that  that  evidence  should  be 
of  such  a  nature  as  to  necessitate  conviction,  and  render  the 
exercise  of  docility,  candor,  and  faith  impracticable,  — 
still  less  to  make  all  diligence  in  its  study  unnecessary ;  it 
was  fit  that  the  Scriptures  should  contain  some  obscurities  on 
minor  points,  to  exercise  patience,  stimulate  inquiry,  teach 
humility,  rebuke  pride,  exercise  faith.  Nor  is  this  all.  The 
differences  of  opinion  thence  resulting  afford  the  various 
communities  of  Christians,  if  they  would  but  use  it,  the  most 
obvious  and  easy  method  of  testing  and  exercising  the  prac 
tical  power  of  those  principles  of  charity  which  they  all  pro 
fess.  Charity  towards  those  who  think  just  with  ourselves,  is 
but  an  enlarged  selfishness  :  we  are  pleased  to  look  at  the 
reflection  of  our  own  fair  orthodoxy  in  the  mirror  pf  their 
minds.  But  to  feel  that  charity,  and  to  manifest  it  in  defiance 
of  the  points  dn  which  we  differ,  requires  and  implies  a 
higher  principle.  Charity  to  our  own  party  is  often  but  anoth 
er  name  for  party  spirit :  give  us  the  charity  which  constrains 
"  Judah  not  to  vex  Ephraim,  and  Ephraim  not  to  envy  Ju- 
dah,"  —  the  charity  which  induced  the  Samaritan  to  perform 
offices  of  kindness  to  the  perishing  Jew.  Painful  as  are  the 
disputes  and  controversies  on  non-essential  points,  we  be 
lieve  the  time  will  come  when  the  sublime  spectacle  of  es 
sential  unity  amidst  minor  differences  will  be  fully  realized  ; 
and  when  it  will  be  seen  how  superior,  after  all,  is  such 
"  unity  of  the  spirit "  to  any  "  uniformity  of  the  letter." 

We  may  add,  that  to  demand  that  there  should  be  perfect 
uniformity  in  religious  opinions,  is  to  demand  a  mere  impos 
sibility,  so  long  as  minds  are  differently  constituted.  This  is 
confirmed  by  the  general  analogies  observable  in  the  consti 
tution  and  development  of  human  nature.  God  has  so  con- 


RIGHT   OF   PRIVATE   JUDGMENT.  337 

structed  us,  that,  while  there  is  remarkable  uniformity  both 
in  the  physical  and  moral  peculiarities  on  which  the  very 
existence  and  social  well-being  of  the  race  depend,  there 
are  endless  diversities  on  all  points  which  do  not  involve 
them.  It  is  much  the  same  with  Christianity.  The  learned 
and  the  unlearned,  if  sincere,  generally  form  a  very  similar 
notion  of  its  fundamental  doctrines.  All  beyond  (and  even 
the  theory  of  these)  is  the  source  of  interminable  diversities 
of  sentiment. 

Let  men  say  what  they  will,  they  will  find  it  hard  to  dis 
cover  any  volume  which,  in  all  its  great  outlines,  is  plainer 
than  the  "  Book  of  God."  It  has  its  obscurities  and  its  mys 
teries,  it  is  true,  —  wisely  left  there,  as  already  attempted  to 
be  shown ;  but  they  trouble  not  the  humble  and  docile,  — 
myriads  of  whom,  almost  without  any  teacher  but  itself,  have 
learned  from  it  enough  to  teach  them  how  to  live  well,  and 
how  to  die  happy.  Its  light  has  illumined  the  whole  pathway 
of  their  present  pilgrimage,  and  penetrated  the  depths  of  the 
sepulchre  with  the  radiance  of  that  "  hope  which  is  full  of 
immortality."  So  far  from  its  being  true,  that  the  indiscrim 
inate  exercise  of  the  Right  of  private  judgment  amongst  the 
humbler  classes  leads  to  interminable  diversities  of  interpreta 
tion  and  of  doctrine,  it  is  notorious  that  most  of  the  profitless 
controversies  which  have  obscured  the  Bible  and  cursed  the 
world  have  originated  with  those  who  have  assumed  to  be  the 
religious  instructors  of  mankind.  They  have  not  sprung  up 
amongst  the  poor,  nor  by  the  poor  have  they  been  cherished. 
It  is,  therefore,  with  a  feeling  of  just  indignation,  that  we 
hear  professed  Christians  and  professed  Protestants  —  at  all 
events  those  who  are  not  professed  Romanists  —  giving  utter 
ance  to  the  sentiment,  "  that  the  private  student  of  Scripture 
would  not  ordinarily  gain  a  knowledge  of  the  Gospel  from 
it."  Such  a  doctrine  is  not  merely  an  insult  to  common 
sense, —  it  is  a  libel  on  the  Divine  Author  of  the  Bible.  Are 
we  to  believe  that,  "  knowing  perfectly  what  was  in  man,"  he 
has  yet  so  constructed  the  volume  of  revelation,  that  even  its 
29 


338  RIGHT   OF   PRIVATE   JUDGMENT. 

fundamental  doctrines  remain  an  inscrutable  mystery  ?  Or 
did  the  great  Teacher  he  sent,  teach  in  so  peculiar  a  manner, 
that  even  the  more  important  truths  he  taught  remained  unin 
telligible  ?  If  so,  we  must  receive  in  a  new  and  monstrous 
sense  the  assurance,  that  "  he  spake  as  never  man  spake  "  ; 
that  he  spake,  not  so  much  to  reveal,  as  to  disguise !  But 
this  record  remains,  that,  while  learned  ignorance  cavilled 
and  derided,  "  THE  COMMON  PEOPLE  HEARD  HIM  GLADLY." 

Far  different  from  the  judgment  of  these  spurious  Protes 
tants  was  that  of  Bishop  Horsley,  with  whose  weighty  words 
we  shall  now  conclude.  ."  I  will  not  scruple  to  assert,  that 
the  most  illiterate  Christian,  if  he  can  but  read  his  English 
Bible,  and  will  take  the  pains  to  read  it  in  this  manner  (co/n- 
paring  parallel  passages),  will  not  only  attain  all  that  practi 
cal  knowledge  which  is  necessary  to  his  salvation ;  but,  by 
God's  blessing,  he  will  become  learned  in  every  thing  relat 
ing  to  his  religion  in  such  a  degree  that  he  will  not  be  liable 
to  be  misled,  either  by  the  refined  arguments,  or  by  the 
false  assertions,  of  those  who  endeavor  to  ingraft  their  own 
opinion  upon  the  oracles  of  God.  He  may  safely  be  igno 
rant  of  all  philosophy  except  what  is  to  be  learned  from  the 
sacred  books  ;  which,  indeed,  contain  the  highest  philosophy 
adapted  to  the  lowest  apprehensions.  He  may  safely  remain 
ignorant  of  all  history,  except  so  much  of  the  history  of 
the  first  ages  of  the  Jewish  and  of  the  Christian  Church,  as 
is  to  be  gathered  from  the  canonical  books  of  the  Old  and 
New  Testament.  Let  him  study  these  in  the  manner  I  rec 
ommend,  and  let  him  never  cease  to  pray  for  the  illumination 
of  that  Spirit  by  which  these  books  were  dictated ;  and  the 
whole  compass  of  abstruse  philosophy  and  recondite  history 
shall  furnish  no  argument  with  which  the  perverse  will  of 
man  shall  be  able  to  shake  this  learned  Christian's  faith. 
The  Bible,  thus  studied,  will  indeed  prove  to  be  what  we 
Protestants  esteem  it,  —  a  certain  and  sufficient  rule  of  faith 
and  practice." 


REASON  AND  FAITH :  THEIR  CLAIMS  AND 
CONFLICTS.* 


"  REASON  and  Faith,"  says  one  of  our  old  divines,  with 
the  quaintness  characteristic  of  his  day,  "  resemble  the  two 
sons  of  the  patriarch  ;  Reason  is  the  first-born,  but  Faith 
inherits  .the  blessing."  The  image  is  ingenious,  and  the  an 
tithesis  striking  ;  but  nevertheless  the  sentiment  is  far  from 
just.  It  is  hardly  right  to  represent  Faith  as  younger  than  Rea 
son  :  the  fact  undoubtedly  being,  that  human  creatures  trust 
and  believe  long  before  they  reason  or  know.  The  truth  is, 
that  both  Reason  and  Faith  are  coeval  with  the  nature  of 
man,  and  were  designed  to  dwell  in  his  heart  together.  They 
are,  and  ever  were,  and,  in  such  creatures  as  ourselves,  must 
be,  reciprocally  complementary  ;  —  neither  can  exclude  the 
other.  It  is  as  impossible  to  exercise  an  acceptable  faith 
without  reason  for  so  exercising  it,  —  that  is,  without  exer- 

*  "Edinburgh  Review,"  October,  1849  ;  with  an  Appendix. 

1.  Historic  Doubts  relative  to  Napoleon  Bonaparte.    Eighth  edition,  pp. 
60.     8vo.     London. 

2.  The  Nemesis  of  Faith.    By  J.  A.  FROUDE,  M.  A.,  Fellow  of  Exeter 
College,  Oxford.     12mo.     London,     pp.  227. 

3.  Popular  Christianity,  its  Transition  State  and  Probable  Development. 
By  F.  J.  FOXTON,  B.  A. ;  formerly  of  Pembroke  College,  Oxford,  and 
Perpetual  Curate  of  Stoke  Prior  and  Docklow,  Herefordshire.     12mo. 
London,    pp.  226. 


340  REASON   AND   FAITH  : 

cising  reason  while  we  exercise  faith,*  —  as  it  is  to  appre 
hend  by  our  reason,  exclusive  of  faith,  all  the  truths  on  which 
we  are  daily  compelled  to  act,  whether  in  relation  to  this 
world  or  the  next.  Neither  is  it  right  to  represent  either  of 
them  as  failing  of  the  promised  heritage,  except  as  both  may 
fail  alike,  by  perversion  from  their  true  end,  and  depravation 
of  their  genuine  nature  ;  for  if  to  the  faith  of  which  the 
New  Testament  speaks  so  much,  a  peculiar  blessing  is  prom 
ised,  it  is  evident  from  that  same  volume  that  it  is  not  a 
"  faith  without  reason "  any  more  than  a  "  faith  without 
works,"  which  is  commended  by  the  Author  of  Christianity. 
And  this  is  sufficiently  proved  by  the  injunction  "  to  be  ready 
to  give  a  reason  for  the  hope  "  —  and  therefore  for  the  faith 
—  "  which  is  in  us." 

If,  therefore,  we  were  to  imitate  the  quaintness  of  the  old 
divine,  on  whose  dictum  we  have  been  commenting,  we 
should  rather  compare  Reason  and  Faith  to  the  two  trusty 
spies,  "  faithful  amongst  the  faithless,"  who  confirmed  each 
other's  report  of  "  that  good  land  which  flowed  with  milk  and 
honey,"  and  to  both  of  whom  the  promise  of  a  rich  inher 
itance  there  was  given,  —  and  in  due  time  amply  redeemed. 
Or,  rather,  if  we  might  be  permitted  to  pursue  the  same  vein 
a  little  further,  and  throw  over  our  shoulders  for  a  moment 
that  mantle  of  allegory  which  none  but  Bunyan  could  wear 
long  and  wear  gracefully,  we  should  represent  Reason  and 
Faith  as  twin-born  ;  —  the  one,  in  form  and  features  the 
image  of  manly  beauty,  —  the  other,  of  feminine  grace  and 
gentleness  ;  but  to  each  of  whom,  alas  !  is  allotted  a  sad 
privation.  While  the  bright  eyes  of  Reason  are  full  of 

*  Let  it  not  be  said  that  this  is  playing  upon  an  ambiguity  in  the 
word  Reason  ;  considered  in  the  first  clause  as  an  argument ;  and,  in  the 
second,  as  the  characteristic  endowment  of  our  species.  The  distinction 
between  Reason  and  Seasoning  (though  most  important)  does  not  affect 
the  above  statement ;  for  though  Reason  may  be  exercised  where  there 
is  no  giving  of  reasons,  there  can  be  no  giving  of  reasons  without  the 
exercise  of  Reason. 


THEIR    CLAIMS    AND    CONFLICTS.  341 

piercing  and  restless  intelligence,  his  ear  is  closed  to  sound  ; 
and  while  Faith  has  an  ear  of  exquisite  delicacy,  on  her 
sightless  orbs,  as  she  lifts  them  towards  heaven,  the  sunbeam 
plays  in  vain.  Hand  in  hand  the  brother  and  sister,  in  all 
mutual  love,  pursue  their  way,  through  a  world  on  which,  like 
ours,  day  breaks  and  night  falls  alternate  ;  by  day  the  eyes 
of  Reason  are  the  guide  of  Faith,  and  by  night  the  ear  of 
Faith  is  the  guide  of  Reason.  As  is  wont  with  those  who 
labor  under  these  privations  respectively,  Reason  is  apt  to 
be  eager,  impetuous,  impatient  of  that  instruction  which  his 
infirmity  will  not  permit  him  readily  to  apprehend  ;  while 
Faith,  gentle  and  docile,  is  ever  willing  to  listen  to  the  voice 
by  which  alone  truth  and  wisdom  can  effectually  reach  her. 

It  has  been  shown  by  Butler  in  the  fourth  and  fifth  chap 
ters  (Part  I.)  of  his  great  work,  that  the  entire  constitution 
and  condition  of  man,  viewed  in  relation  to  the  present  world 
alone,  and,  consequently,  all  the  analogies  derived  from  that 
fact  in  relation  to  a  future  world,  suggest  the  conclusion,  that 
we  are  here  the  subjects  of  a  probationary  discipline,  or  in 
a  course  of  education  for  another  state  of  existence.  But 
it  has  not,  perhaps,  been  sufficiently  insisted  on,  that  if  in  the 
actual  course  of  that  education,  (of  which  enlightened  obe 
dience  to  the  "  law  of  virtue,"  as  Butler  expresses  it,  or, 
which  is  the  same  thing,  to  the  dictates  of  supreme  wisdom 
and  goodness,  is  the  great  end,)  we  give  an  unchecked  ascen 
dency  to  either  Reason  or  Faith,  we  vitiate  the  whole  process. 
The  chief  instrument  by  which  that  process  is  carried  on  is 
not  Reason  alone,  or  Faith  alone,  but  their  well-balanced 
and  reciprocal  interaction.  It  is  a  system  of  alternate  checks 
and  limitations,  in  which  Reason  does  not  supersede  Faith, 
nor  Faith  encroach  on  Reason.  But  our  meaning  will  be 
more  evident  when  we  have  made  one  or  two  remarks  on 
what  are  conceived  to  be  their  respective  provinces. 

In  the  domain  of  Reason  men  generally  include,  1st,  what 
are  called  "  intuitions  "  ;  2d,  "  necessary  deductions  "  from 
these ;  and,  3d,  deductions  from  their  own  direct  "  experi- 

29* 


342  REASON    AND    FAITH  I 

ence 

and  propositions  which  are  received,  not  without  reasons  in 
deed,  but  for  reasons  underived  from  the  intrinsic  evidence 
(whether  intuitive  or  deductive,  or  directly  experimental)  of 
the  propositions  themselves  ;  —  for  reasons  (such  as  credible 
testimony,  for  example)  extrinsic  to  the  proper  meaning  and 
significance  of  such  propositions.  Yet  such  reasons,  by  ac 
cumulations  and  convergency,  may  be  capable  of  subduing 
the  force  of  any  difficulties,  or  improbabilities,  which  cannot 
be  demonstrated  to  involve  absolute  contradictions.* 


*  Of  the  first  kind  of  truths,  or  those  perceived  by  intuition,  we  have 
examples  in  what  are  called  "  self-evident  axioms,"  and  "  fundamental 
laws  "  or  "  conditions  of  thought,"  which  no  wise  man  has  ever  attempt 
ed  to  prove.  Of  the  second,  we  have  examples  in  the  entire  fabric  of 
mathematical  science,  reared  from  its  basis  of  axioms  and  definitions,  as 
well  as  in  every  other  necessary  deduction  from  admitted  premises.  The 
third  virtually  includes  any  conclusion  in  science  based  on  direct  exper 
iment,  or  observation ;  though  the  belief  of  the  truth  even  of  Newton's 
system  of  the  world,  when  received  as  Locke  says  he  received,  and  as 
the  generality  of  men  receive  it,  —  without  being  able  to  follow  the 
steps  by  which  the  great  geometer  proves  his  conclusions,  —  may  be 
represented  rather  as  an  act  of  Faith  than  an  act  of  Reason ;  as  much 
so  as  a  belief  in  the  truth  of  Christianity,  founded  on  its  historic  and 
other  evidences.  The  greater  part  of  a  man's  knowledge,  indeed,  even 
of  science,  —  even  the  greater  part  of  a  scientific  man's  knowledge  of 
science,  based  as  it  is  on  testimony  alone  (and  which  so  often  compels 
him  to  renounce  to-day  what  he  thought  certain  yesterday),  —  may  be 
not  unjustly  considered  as  more  allied  to  Faith  than  Reason.  It  may 
be  said,  perhaps,  that  the  above  classification  of  the  truths  received  by 
Reason  and  Faith  respectively  is  arbitrary  ;  that  even  some  of  their  al 
leged  sources  are  not  always  clearly  distinguishable ;  that  the  evidence 
of  experience  may  in  some  sort  be  reduced  to  testimony,  —  that  of  sense ; 
and  testimony  reduced  to  experience,  —  that  of  human  veracity  under 
given  circumstances  ;  both  being  founded  on  the  observed  uniformity  of 
certain  phenomena  under  similar  conditions.  We  admit  the  truth  of 
this  ;  and  we  admit  it  the  more  willingly,  as  it  shows  that  so  inextrica 
bly  intertwined  in  our  nature  are  the  roots  both  of  Reason  and  Faith, 
that  no  definitions  that  can  be  framed  will  completely  separate  them  ; 
none  that  will  not  involve  many  phenomena  which  may  be  said  to  fall 
under  the  dominion  of  one  as  much  as  of  the  other.  It  is  sufficient  for 


THEIR   CLAIMS    AND    CONFLICTS.  343 

In  receiving  important  doctrines  on  the  strength  of  such 
evidence,  and  in  holding  to  them  against  the  perplexities  they 
involve,  or,  what  is  harder  still,  against  the  prejudices  they 
oppose,  every  exercise  of  an  intelligent  faith  will,  on  anal 
ysis,  be  found  to  consist ;  its  only  necessary  limit  will  be 
proven  contradictions  in  the  propositions  submitted  to  it ;  for 
then  no  evidence  can  justify  belief,  or  even  render  it  pos 
sible.  But  no  other  difficulties,  however  great,  will  justify 
unbelief,  where  man  has  all  that  he  can  justly  demand, — 
evidence  such  in  its  nature  as  he  can  deal  with,  and  on  which 
he  is  accustomed  to  act  in  his  most  important  affairs  in  this 
world  (thus  admitting  its  validity),  and  such  in  amount  as  to 
render  it  more  likely  that  the  doctrines  it  substantiates  are 
true,  than,  from  mere  ignorance  of  the  mode  in  which  these 
difficulties  can  be  solved,  he  can  infer  them  to  be  false. 
"  Probabilities,"  says  Bishop  Butler,  "  are  to  us  the  very 
guide  of  life  "  ;  and  when  the  probabilities  arise  out  of  evi 
dence  on  which  we  are  competent  to  pronounce,  and  the 
improbabilities  merely  from  our  surmises,  where  we  have 
no  evidence  to  deal  with,  and  perhaps,  from  the  limitation  of 
our  capacities,  could  not  deal  with  it  if  we  had  it,  it  is  not 
difficult  to  see  what  course  practical  wisdom  tells  man  he 
ought  to  pursue  ;  and  which  he  invariably  does  pursue,  what 
ever  difficulties  beset  him,  —  in  all  cases  except  one  ! 

The  more  we  reflect,  the  more  we  shall  see  that  an  invio 
lable  union  —  a  mutual  dependence  of  Reason  and  Faith  — 
is  the  great  law  of  the  moral  school  in  which  we  are  being 


our  practical  purpose,  to  take,  without  any  too  subtle  refinement,  the  line 
of  demarcation  which  is,  perhaps,  as  obvious  as  any,  and  as  generally 
recognized.  Few  would  say  that  a  generalized  inference  from  direct  ex 
periment  was  not  matter  of  reason  rather  than  of  faith  ;  though  an  act 
of  faith  is  involved  in  the  process  ;  and  few  would  not  call  confidence  in 
testimony,  where  probabilities  were  nearly  balanced,  by  the  name  of  faith 
rather  than  reason,  though  an  act  of  reason  is  involved  in  that  process. 
We  are  much  more  anxious  to  show  their  general  involution  with  one 
another  than  the  points  of  discrimination  between  them. 


344  REASON   AND    FAITH  I 

educated.  This  law  is  equally,  or  almost  equally,  its  charac 
teristic,  whether  we  regard  man  simply  in  his  present  condi 
tion,  or  in  his  present  in  relation  to  his  future  condition,  — 
as  an  inhabitant  only  of  this  world,  or  a  candidate  for  anoth 
er  ;  and  to  this  law,  by  a  series  of  analogies  as  striking  as 
any  of  those  which  Butler  has  pointed  out  (and  on  which  we 
heartily  wish  his  comprehensive  genius  had  expended  a  chap 
ter  or  two),  Christianity,  in  the  demands  it  makes  on  loth 
principles  conjointly,  is  evidently  adapted. 

Men  often  speak,  indeed,  as  if  the  exercise  of  Faith  was 
excluded  from  their  condition  as  inhabitants  of  the  present 
world.  But  it  requires  but  a  very  slight  consideration  to  show, 
that  the  boasted  prerogative  of  Reason  is  here  also  that  of  a 
limited  monarch  ;  and  that  its  attempts  to  make  itself  abso 
lute  can  only  end  in  its  own  dethronement,  and,  after  suc 
cessive  revolutions,  in  all  the  anarchy  of  absolute  pyr- 
rhonism. 

For  in  the  intellectual  and  moral  education  of  man,  consid 
ered  merely  as  a  citizen  of  the  present  world,  we  see  the 
constant  and  inseparable  union  of  the  two  principles,  and 
provision  made  for  their  perpetual  exercise.  He  cannot  ad 
vance  a  step,  indeed,  without  both.  We  see  faith  demanded 
not  only  amidst  the  dependence  and  ignorance  in  which  child 
hood  and  youth  are  passed  ;  not  only  in  the  whole  process  by 
which  we  acquire  the  imperfect  knowledge  which  is  to  fit  us 
for  being  men  ;  but  to  the  very  last  we  may  be  truly  said  to 
believe  far  more  than  we  know.  "  Indeed,"  says  Butler,  "  the 
unsatisfactory  nature  of  the  evidence  with  which  we  are 
obliged  to  take  up  in  the  daily  course  of  life,  is  scarce  to  be 
expressed."  Nay,  in  an  intelligible  sense,  even  the  "  prima 
ry  truths,"  or  "  first  principles,"  or  "  fundamental  laws  of 
thought,"  or  "  self-evident  maxims,"  or  "  intuitions,"  or  by 
whatever  other  names  philosophers  have  been  pleased  to  des 
ignate  them,  which,  in  a  special  sense,  are  the  very  province 
of  reason,  as  contradistinguished  from  "  reasoning,"  or  logi 
cal  deduction,  may  be  said  almost  as  truly  to  depend  on  faith 


THEIR   CLAIMS  AND   CONFLICTS.  345 

as  on  reason  for  their  reception.*  For  the  only  ground  for 
believing  them  true  is  that  man  cannot  help  so  believing 
them  !  The  same  may  be  said  of  that  great  fact,  without 
which  the  whole  world  would  be  at  a  stand-still,  —  a  belief  in 
the  uniformity  of  the  phenomena  of  external  nature  ;  that  the 
same  sun,  for  example,  which  rose  yesterday  and  to-day,  will 
rise  again  to-morrow.  That  this  cannot  be  demonstrated,  is 
admitted  on  all  hands  ;  and  that  it  is  not  absolutely  proved 
from  experience  is  evident,  both  from  the  fact  that  experience 
cannot  prove  any  thing  future,  and  from  the  fact  that  the  uni 
formity  supposed  is  only  accepted  as  partially  and  transiently 
true  ;  the  great  bulk  of  mankind,  even  while  they  so  confident 
ly  act  upon  that  uniformity,  rejecting  the  idea  of  its  being  an 
eternal  uniformity.  Every  theist  believes  that  the  present 
order  of  the  universe  once  began  to  be ;  and  every  Christian, 
and  most  other  men,  believe  that  it  will  also  one  day  cease 
to  be. 

But  perhaps  the  most  striking  example  of  the  helplessness 
to  which  man  is  soon  reduced  if  he  relies  upon  his  reason 
alone,  is  the  spectacle  of  the  issue  of  his  investigations  into 
that  which  one  would  imagine  he  must  know  most  intimately, 
if  he  knows  any  thing  ;  and  that  is,  his  own  nature,  —  his  own 
mind.  There  is  something,  to  one  who  reflects  long  enough 
upon  it,  inexpressibly  whimsical  in  the  questions  which  the 
mind  is  for  ever  putting  to  itself  respecting  itself;  and  to 
which  the  said  mind  returns  from  its  dark  caverns  only  an 
echo.  We  are  apt,  when  we  speculate  about  the  mind,  to 
forget  for  the  moment,  that  it  is  at  once  the  querist  and  the 
oracle  ;  and  to  regard  it  as  something  out  of  itself,  like  a 
mineral  in  the  hands  of  the  analytic  chemist.  We  cannot 
fully  enter  into  the  absurdities  of  its  condition,  except  by  re- 

*  Common  language  seems  to  indicate  this :  since  we  call  that  dispo 
sition  of  mind  which  leads  some  men  to  deny  the  above  fundamental 
truths  (or  affect  to  deny  them),  not  by  a  word  which  indicates  the  oppo 
site  of  reason,  but  the  opposite  of  faith,  —  Scepticism,  Unbelief,  Incre 
dulity. 


346  REASON   AND   FAITH  ! 

membering  that  it  is  our  own  wise  selves  who  so  grotesquely 
bewilder  us.  The  mind,  on  such  occasions,  takes  itself  (if  we 
may  so  speak)  into  its  own  hands,  turns  itself  about  as  a  sav 
age  would  a  watch,  or  a  monkey  a  letter  ;  interrogates  itself, 
listens  to  the  echo  of  its  own  voice,  and  is  obliged,  after  all, 
to  lay  itself  down  again  with  a  puzzled  expression,  and  ac 
knowledge  that  of  its  very  self,  itself  knows  little  or  nothing  ! 
"  I  am  material,"  exclaims  one  of  these  whimsical  beings,  to 
whom  the  heaven-descended  "  Know  thyself"  would  seem  to 
have  been  ironically  addressed.  "  No  !  immaterial,"  says 
another.  "  I  am  both  material  and  immaterial,"  exclaims, 
perhaps,  the  very  same  mind  at  different  times.  "  Thought 
itself  may  be  matter  modified,"  says  one.  "  Rather,"  says 
another  of  the  same  perplexed  species,  "  matter  is  thought 
modified  ;  for  what  you  call  matter  is  but  a  phenomenon." 
"  Both  are  independent  and  totally  distinct  substances,  myste 
riously,  inexplicably  conjoined,"  says^i  third.  "  How  they  are 
conjoined  we  know  no  more  than  the  dead.  Not  so  much, 
perhaps."  "  Do  I  ever  cease  to  think,"  says  the  mind  to  it 
self,  "  even  in  sleep  ?  Is  not  my  essence  thought  ?  "  "  You 
ought  to  know  your  own  essence  best,"  all  creation  will  reply. 
"  I  am  confident,"  says  one,  "  that  I  never  do  cease  to  think, 
—  not  even  in  the  soundest  sleep."  "  You  do,  for  a  long 
time,  every  night  of  your  life,"  exclaims  another,  equally 
confident  and  equally  ignorant.  "  Where  do  I  exist  ?  "  it 
goes  on.  "  Am  I  in  the  brain  ?  Am  I  in  the  whole  body  ? 
Am  I  anywhere  ?  Am  I  nowhere  ?  "  "  I  cannot  have  any 
local  existence,  for  I  know  I  am  immaterial,"  says  one.  "  I 
have  a  local  existence,  because  I  am  material,"  says  another. 
u  I  have  a  local  existence,  though  I  am  not  material,"  says  a 
third.  "  Are  my  habitual  actions  voluntary,"  it  exclaims, 
"  however  rapid  they  become  ;  though  I  am  unconscious  of 
these  volitions  when  they  have  attained  a  certain  rapidity ;  or 
do  I  become  a  mere  automaton  as  respects  such  actions  ?  and 
therefore  an  automaton  nine  times  out  of  ten,  when  I  act  at 
all  ?  "  To  this  query  two  opposite  answers  are  given  by  dif- 


THEIR   CLAIMS   AND   CONFLICTS.  347 

ferent  minds  ;  and  by  others,  perhaps  wiser,  none  at  all ;  while, 
often,  opposite  answers  are  given  by  the  same  mind  at  differ 
ent  times.  In  like  manner  has  every  action,  every  operation, 
every  emotion  of  the  mind,  been  made  the  subject  of  endless 
doubt  and  disputation.  Surely  if,  as  Soame  Jenyns  imagined, 
the  infirmities  of  man,  and  even  graver  evils,  are  permitted 
in  order  to  afford  amusement  to  superior  intelligences,  and 
make  the  angels  laugh,  few  things  could  afford  them  better 
sport  than  the  perplexities  of  the  child  of  clay  engaged  in  the 
study  of  himself.  "  Alas  ! "  exclaims  at  last  the  baffled  spir 
it  of  this  babe  in  intellect,  as  he  surveys  his  shattered  toys, 
his  broken  theories  of  metaphysics,  "  I  know  that  I  am  ;  but 
what  I  am,  —  where  I  am,  —  even  how  I  act ;  not  only  what 
is  my  essence,  but  what  even  my  mode  of  operation,  —  of  all 
this  I  know  nothing  ;  and,  boast  of  reason  as  I  may,  all  that  I 
think  on  these  points  is  matter  of  opinion,  —  or  is  matter  of 
faith  !  "  He  resembles,  in  fact,  nothing  so  much  as  a  kitten 
first  introduced  to  its  own  image  in  a  mirror ;  she  runs  to  the 
back  of  it,  she  leaps  over  it,  she  turns  and  twists,  and  jumps 
and  frisks,  in  all  directions,  in  the  vain  attempt  to  reach  the 
fair  illusion  ;  and,  at  length,  turns  away  in  weariness  from 
that  incomprehensible  enigma,  —  the  image  of  herself  ! 

One  would  imagine  —  perhaps  not  untruly  —  that  the  Di 
vine  Creator  had  subjected  us  to  these  difficulties,  and 
especially  that  incomprehensible  ZHlemma,  —  that  there  is 
an  union  and  interaction  of  two  totally  distinct  substances,  or 
that  matter  is  but  thought,  or  that  thought  is  but  matter, — 
one  of  which  must  be  true,  and  all  of  which  approach  as  near 
to  mutual  contradictions  as  can  well  be  conceived,  —  for  the 
very  purpose  of  rebuking  our  presumption,  and  of  teaching 
us  humility  ;  that  He  had  left  these  obscurities  at  the  very 
threshold,  —  nay,  within  the  very  mansion  of  the  mind  itself,  — 
for  the  express  purpose  of  deterring  man  from  playing  the  • 
dogmatizing  fool  when  he  looked  abroad.  Yet,  in  spite  of 
his  raggedness  and  poverty  at  home,  no  sooner  does  man  look 
out  of  his  dusky  dwelling,  Jhan,  like  Goldsmith's  little  Beau, 


348  REASON   AND   FAITH  : 

who,  in  his  garret  up  five  pair  of  stairs,  boasts  of  his  friend 
ship  with  lords,  he  is  apt  to  assume  airs  of  magnificence,  and, 
glancing  at  the  Infinite  through  his  little  eye-glass,  to  affect 
an  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  most  respectable  secrets  of 
the  universe ! 

It  is  undeniable,  then,  that  the  perplexities  which  uniformly 
puzzle  man  in  the  physical  world,  and  even  in  the  little  world 
of  his  own  mind,  when  he  passes  a  certain  limit,  are  just  as 
unmanageable  as  those  found  in  the  moral  constitution  and 
government  of  the  universe,  or  in  the  disclosures  of  the  vol 
ume  of  Revelation.  In  both  we  find  abundance  of  inexpli 
cable  difficulties ;  sometimes  arising  from  our  absolute  igno 
rance,  and  perhaps  quite  as  often  from  our  partial  knowledge. 
These  difficulties  are  probably  left  on  the  pages  of  both  vol 
umes  for  some  of  the  same  reasons ;  many  of  them,  it  may 
be,  because  even  the  commentary  of  the  Creator  himself 
could  not  render  them  plain  to  a  finite  understanding,  though 
a  necessary  and  salutary  exercise  of  our  humility  may  be 
involved  in  their  reception  ;  others,  if  not  purely  (which  seems 
not  probable)  yet  partly  for  the  sake  of  exercising  and  train 
ing  that  humility,  as  an  essential  part  of  the  education  of  a 
child;  others,  surmountable,  indeed,  in  the  progress  of  knowl 
edge  and  by  prolonged  effort  of  the  human  intellect,  may  be 
designed  to  stimulate  that  intellect  to  strenuous  action  and 
healthy  effort,  —  as  well  as  to  supply,  in  their  solution,  as  time 
rolls  on,  an  ever-accumulating  mass  of  proofs  of  the  profun 
dity  of  the  wisdom  which  has  so  far  anticipated  all  the  wisdom 
of  man ;  and  of  the  divine  origin  of  both  the  great  books 
which  he  is  privileged  to  study  as  a  pupil,  and  even  to  illus 
trate  as  a  commentator,  —  but  the  text  of  which  he  cannot 
alter. 

But,  for  submitting  to  us  many  profound  and  insoluble 
problems,  the  second  of  the  above  reasons  —  the  training  of 
the  intellect  and  heart  of  man  to  submission  to  the  Supreme 
Intelligence  —  would  alone  be  sufficient.  For  if,  as  is  indi 
cated  by  every  thing  in  human  nature,  by  the  constitution  of 


THEIR   CLAIMS   AND   CONFLICTS.  349 

the  world  as  adapted  to  that  nature,  and  by  the  representa 
tions  of  Scripture,  which  are  in  analogy  with  both,  the  present 
world  is  but  the  school  of  man  in  this  the  childhood  of  his 
being,  to  prepare  him  for  the  enjoyment  of  an  immortal  man 
hood  in  another,  every  thing  might  be  expected  to  be  subor 
dinated  to  this  great  object ;  and  as  the  end  of  that  education 
can  be  no  other  than  an  enlightened  obedience  to  God,  the 
harmonious  and  concurrent  exercise  of  reason  and  faith  be 
comes  absolutely  necessary :  not  of  reason  to  the  exclusion 
of  faith,  for  otherwise  there  would  be  no  adequate  test  of 
man's  docility  and  submission  ;  nor  of  a  faith  that  would  as 
sert  itself,  not  only  independent  of  reason,  but  in  contradiction 
to  it,  —  for  this  would  not  be  what  God  requires,  and  what 
alone  can  quadrate  with  that  intelligent  nature  he  has  im 
pressed  on  his  offspring,  —  a  reasonable  obedience.  Implicit 
obedience,  then,  to  the  dictates  of  an  all-perfect  wisdom,  ex 
ercised  amidst  many  difficulties  and  perplexities,  as  so  many 
tests  of  sincerity,  and  yet  sustained  by  evidences  which  jus 
tify  the  conclusions  which  involve  them,  would  seem  to  be 
the  great  object  of  man's  moral  education  here ;  and  to  vindi 
cate  both  the  partial  evidence  addressed  to  his  reason,  and 
the  abundant  difficulties  which  it  leaves  to  his  faith.  "  The 
evidence  of  religion,"  says  Butler,  "  is  fully  sufficient  for  all 
the  purposes  of  probation,  how  far  soever  it  is  from  being 
satisfactory  as  to  the  purposes  of  curiosity,  or  any  other :  and, 
indeed,  it^  answers  the  purposes  of  the  former  in  several  re 
spects,  which  it  would  not  do  if  it  were  as  overbearing  as  is 
required."  *  Or  as  Pascal  beautifully  puts  it :  "  There  is 
light  enough  for  those  whose  sincere  wish  is  to  see,  —  and 
darkness  enough  to  confound  those  of  an  opposite  dispo 
sition."  f 

*  Analogy,  Part  II.  Chap.  VIII. 

t  Pensees.  Faugere's  edition,  Tom.  II.  p.  151.  The  views  here  de- 
deloped  will  be  found  an  expansion  of  some  brief  hints  at  the  close  of  the 
article  on  Pascal's  "  Life  and  Genius  "  (Ed.  Keview,  Jan.,  1847),  to  which 
the  want  of  space  then  rendered  it  impossible  to  do  justice.  The  pres- 


350  REASON    AND   FAITH  ! 

As  He  "  who  spake  as  never  man  spake  "  is  pleased  often 
to  illustrate  the  conduct  of  the  Father  of  Spirits  to  his  intelli 
gent  offspring  by  a  reference  to  the  conduct  which  flows  from 
the  relations  of  the  human  parent  to  his  children,  so  the  pres 
ent  subject  admits  of  similar  illustration.  What  God  does 
with  us  in  that  process  of  moral  education  to  which  we  have 
just  adverted,  is  exactly  what  every  wise  parent  endeavors  to 
do  with  his  children,  —  though  by  methods,  as  we  may  well 
judge,  proportionably  less  perfect.  Man,  instinctively,  or  by 
reflection,  adapts  himself  to  the  nature  of  his  children;  and, 
seeing  that  only  so  far  as  it  is  justly  trained  can  they  be  hap 
py,  makes  the  harmonious  and  concurrent  development  of 
their  reason  and  their  faith  his  object ;  he  endeavors  to  teach 

ent  opportunity  is  gladly  seized  of  pointing  the  attention  of  the  reader 
to  a  tract  of  Archbishop  Whately's,  entitled  "  The  Example  of  Children 
as  proposed  to  Christians,"  which  his  Grace,  having  been  struck  with  a 
coincidence  between  some  of  the  thoughts  in  the  tract  and  those  ex 
pressed  in  the  "  Review,"  was  so  kind  as  to  transmit  to  the  present  writer. 
Had  he  seen  the  tract  before,  he  would  have  been  glad  to  illustrate  and 
confirm  his  own  views  by  those  of  this  highly  gifted  prelate.  He  ear 
nestly  recommends  the  tract  in  question  (as  well  as  the  whole  of  the 
remarkable  volume  in  which  it  is  now  incorporated,  "  Essays  on  some 
of  the  Peculiarities  of  the  Christian  Religion ")  to  the  perusal  of  the 
reader,  and  at  the  same  time  ventures  to  express  a  conviction  (having 
been  led  by  the  circumstances  above  mentioned  to  a  fuller  acquaintance 
with  his  Grace's  theological  writings  than  he  had  previously  possessed), 
that  though  this  lucid  and  eloquent  writer  may,  for  obvious  reasons,  be 
most  widely  known  by  his  "  Logic"  and  "Rhetoric,"  the  time  will  come 
when  his  theological  works  will  be,  if  not  more  widely  read,  still  more 
highly  prized.  To  great  powers  of  argument  and  illustration,  and  de 
lightful  transparency  of  diction  and  style,  he  adds  a  higher  quality  still, 
—  and  a  very  rare  quality  it  is,  —  an  evident  and  intense  honesty  of  pur 
pose,  an  absorbing  desire  to  arrive  at  the  exact  truth,  and  to  state  it  with 
perfect  fairness  and  with  the  just  limitations.  Without  pretending  to 
agree  with  all  that  Archbishop  Whately  has  written  on  the  subject  of 
theology  (though  he  carries  his  readers  with  him  as  frequently  as  any 
writer),  it  may  be  remarked  that,  in  relation  to  that  whole  class  of  sub 
jects  to  which  the  present  essay  has  reference,  there  is  no  author  of  the 
present  day  whose  contributions  are  more  numerous  or  more  valuable. 


THEIR  CLAIMS   AND   CONFLICTS.  351 

them  that  without  which  they  cannot  be  happy,  —  obedience, 
but  a  reasonable  obedience.^  He  gives  them,  in  his  general 
procedure  and  conduct,  sufficient  proofs  of  his  superior  knowl 
edge,  superior  wisdom,  and  unchanging  love ;  and  secure 
in  the  general  effect  of  this,  he  leaves  them  to  receive  by  faith 
many  things  which  he  ca-nnot  explain  to  them  if  he  would, 
till  they  get  older  ;  many  things  which  he  can  only  partially 
explain ;  and  many  others  which  he  might  more  perfectly 
explain,  but  will  not,  partly  as  a  test  of  their  docility,  and 
partly  to  invite  and  necessitate  the  healthy  and  energetic 
exercise  of  their  reason  in  finding  out  the  explanation  for 
themselves.  Confiding  in  the  same  general  effect  of  his  pro 
cedure  and  conduct,  he  does  not  hesitate,  when  the  foresight 


The  highly  ingenious  ironical  brochure,  entitled  "  Historic  Doubts  relative 
to  Napoleon  Bonaparte " ;  the  essays  above  mentioned,  u  On  some  of 
the  Peculiarities  of  the  Christian  Religion " ;  those  "  On  some  of  the 
Dangers  to  Christian  Faith,"  and  on  the  "Errors  of  Romanism";  the 
work  on  the  "  Kingdom  of  Christ,"  not  to  mention  others,  are  well  wor 
thy  of  universal  perusal.  They  abound  in  views  both  original  and  just, 
stated  with  all  the  author's  aptness  of  illustration  and  transparency  of 
language.  It  may  be  added,  that  in  many  of  his  occasional  sermons  he 
has  incidentally  contributed  many  most  beautiful  fragments  to  that  ever- 
accumulating  mass  of  internal  evidence  which  the  Scriptures  themselves 
supply  in  their  very  structure,  and  which  is  evolved  by  diligent  investiga 
tion  of  the  relation  and  coherence  of  one  part  of  them  with  another.  It 
is  also  matter  of  congratulation,  that  a  small  and  unpretending,  but  very 
powerful,  little  tract,  by  the  same  writer,  entitled  "  Introductory  Lessons 
on  Christian  Evidences,"  has  passed  through  many  editions,  has  been 
translated  into  most  of  the  European  languages,  and,  amongst  the  rest* 
very  recently  into  German,  with  an  appropriate  preface,  by  Professor 
Abeltzhauser,  of  the  University  of  Dublin.  That  tract  shows  to  demon 
stration,  that  as  much  of  the  evidence  of  Christianity  as  is  necessary  for 
conviction  may  be  made  perfectly  clear  to  the  meanest  capacity ;  and  that, 
in  spite  of  the  assertions  of  Rome  and  of  Oxford  to  the  contrary,  the 
Apostolic  injunction  to  every  Christian  to  be  ready  to  render  a  reason 
"  for  the  hope  that  is  in  him,"  —  somewhat  better  than  that  no  reason 
of  the  Hindoo  or  the  Hottentot,  that  he  believes  what  he  is  told,  without 
any  reason  except  that  he  is  told  it,  —  is  an  injunction  possible  to  bo 
obeyed. 


352  REASON   AND   FAITH: 

of  their  ultimate  welfare  justifies  it,  to  draw  still  more  largely 
on  their  faith,  in  acts  of  apparent  harshness  and  severity. 
Time,  he  knows,  will  show,  though  perhaps  not  till  his  yearn 
ing  heart  has  ceased  to  beat  for  their  welfare,  that  all  that  he 
did,  he  did  in  love.  He  knows,  too,  that  if  his  lessons  are 
taken  aright,  and  his  children  become '  the  good  and  happy 
men  he  wishes  them  to  be,  they  will  say,  as  they  visit  his 
sepulchre,  and  recall  with  sorrow  the  once  unappreciated  love 
which  animated  him,  —  and  perhaps  remember  with  a  sor 
row  deeper  still,  the  transient  resentments  caused  by  a  salu 
tary  severity :  "  He  was  indeed  a  friend  ;  he  corrected  us 
not  for  his  pleasure,  but  for  our  profit ;  and  what  we  once 
thought  was  caprice  or  passion,  we  now  know  was  love." 

These  analogies  afford  a  true,  though  most  imperfect,  rep 
resentation  of  the  moral  discipline  to  which  Supreme  Wis 
dom  is  subjecting  us  ;  and  as  men  are  accustomed  to  despair 
of  any  child  with  whom  paternal  experience  and  authority  go 
for  nothing,  unless  he  can  fully  understand  the  intrinsic  rea 
sons  for  every  special  act  of  duty  which  that  experience  and 
authority  dictate  ;  as  they  are  sure  that  he  who  has  not  learned 
to  obey  when  young  will  never,  when  of  age,  know  how 
to  govern  either  himself  or  others ;  so  a  similar  conduct  in  all 
the  children  of  dust  towards  the  Father  of  Spirits  justifies  a 
still  more  gloomy  augury ;  inasmuch  as  the  difference  be 
tween  the  knowledge  of  man  and  the  ignorance  of  a  child 
absolutely  vanishes,  in  comparison  with  that  interval  which 
must  ever  subsist  between  the  knowledge  of  the  Eternal  and 
the  ignorance  of  man. 

The  remarks  that  have  been  made  are  not  uncalled  for  in 
the  present  day.  For,  unfortunately,  it  is  easy  just  now  to 
detect  in  many  classes  of  minds  a  tendency  to  divorce  Rea 
son  from  Faith,  or  Faith  from  Reason ;  and  to  proclaim  that 
"  what  God  hath  joined  together  "  shall  henceforth  exist  in 
alienation.  The  old  conflict  between  the  claims  of  these  two 
guiding  principles  of  man  (in  no  age  wholly  suppressed)  is 
visibly  renewed  in  our  day  ;  and  the  tendency  in  question  is 


THEIR   CLAIMS   AND   CONFLICTS.  353 

manifested  in  relation  both  to  Natural  Theology  and  to  Re 
vealed  Religion.  In  relation  to  the  latter  especially,  there  are 
large  classes  amongst  us  who  press  the  claims  of  faith  so  far, 
that  it  would  become,  if  they  had  their  will,  an  utterly  unrea 
sonable  faith  ;  some  of  whom  do  not  scruple  to  speak  slight 
ingly  of  the  evidences  which  substantiate  Christianity  ;  to  de 
cry  and  depreciate  the  study  of  them  ;  to  pronounce  that  study 
unnecessary  ;  and  in  many  cases  even  to  insinuate  their  in 
sufficiency.  They  are  loud  in  the  mean  time  in  extolling  a 
faith  which,  as  Whately  truly  observes,  is  no  whit  better  than 
the  faith  of  a  heathen  ;  who  has  no  other  or  better  reason  to 
offer  for  his  religion  than  that  his  father  told  him  it  was  true  ! 
But  this  plainly  is  not  the  intelligent  faith,  which,  as  we  have 
seen,  is  everywhere  inculcated  and  applauded  in  the  Scrip 
tures  ;  it  is  not  that  faith  by  which  Christianity,  appealing  in 
the  midst  of  a  multitude  of  such  traditional  religions  to  pal 
pable  evidence  addressed  to  men's  senses  and  understandings 
(in  a  way  no  other  religion  ever  did),  everywhere  destroyed 
the  systems  for  which  their  votaries  could  only  say  that  their 
fathers  told  them  they  were  true.  And  yet  this  blind  belief 
in  such  tradition,  many  advocates  of  Christianity  would  now 
enjoin  us  to  imitate  !  It  might  have  occurred  to  them,  one 
would  think,  that,  on  their  principles,  Christianity  never  could 
have  succeeded ;  for  every  mind  must  have  been  hopelessly 
preoccupied  against  all  examination  of  its  claims.  It  is,  in 
deed,  incomparably  better  that  a  man  should  be  a  sincere 
Christian  even  by  an  utterly  unreasoning  and  passive  faith  (if 
that  be  possible),  than  no  Christian  at  all ;  yet  at  the  best, 
such  a  man  is  a  possessor  of  the  truth  only  by  accident.  He 
ought  to  have,  and,  if  he  be  a  sincere  disciple  of  truth,  will 
seek,  some  more  solid  grounds  for  holding  it.  It  is  but  too 
obvious,  however,  that  the  disposition  in  many  to  enjoin  this 
obsequious  mood  of  mind  is  prompted  by  a  strong  desire  to 
revive  the  ancient  empire  of  priestcraft  and  the  pretensions  of 
ecclesiastical  despotism  ;  to  secure  readmission  amongst  man 
kind  of  extravagant  and  preposterous  claims,  which  their  ad- 
30* 


354  REASON   AND   FAITH  I 

vocates  are  sadly  conscious  rest  on  no  solid  foundation.  They 
feel  that,  as  reason  is  not  with  them,  it  must  be  against  them  ; 
and  reason  therefore  they  are  determined  to  exclude. 

But  the  experience  of  the  present  "  developments  "  of  Ox 
ford  teaching  may  serve  to  show  us  how  infinitely  perilous  is 
this  course  ;  and  how  fearfully  both  outraged  reason  and  out 
raged  faith  will  avenge  the  wrongs  done  them  by  their  aliena 
tion  and  disjunction.  Those  results,  indeed,  we  predicted 
in  1843  ;  before  a  single  leader  of  the  Oxford  School  had 
gone  over  to  Rome,  and  before  any  tendencies  to  the  oppo 
site  extreme  of  Scepticism  had  manifested  themselves.  We 
then  affirmed,  that,  on  the  one  hand,  those  who  were  contend 
ing  for  the  corruptions  of  the  fourth  century  could  not  possi 
bly  find  footing  there,  but  must  inevitably  seek  their  ultimate 
resting-place  in  Rome,  —  a  prediction  which  has  been  too 
amply  fulfilled  ;  and  that,  on  the  other,  the  extravagant  pre 
tensions  put  forth  on  behalf  of  an  uninquiring  faith,  and  the 
desperate  assertion  that  the  "  evidence  for  Christianity  "  was 
no  stronger  than  that  for  "  Church  principles,"  must,  by  re 
action,  lead  on  to  an  outbreak  of  infidelity.  That  prophecy, 
too,  has  been  to  the  letter  accomplished.  Our  words  were  : 
"  We  have  seen  it  recently  asserted  by  some  of  the  Ox 
ford  School,  that  there  is  as  much  reason  for  rejecting  the 
most  essential  doctrines  of  Christianity,  —  nay,  Christianity 
itself,  —  as  for  rejecting  their  'Church  principles.'  That, 
in  short,  we  have  as  much  reason  for  being  infidels,  as  for  re 
jecting  the  doctrine  of  Apostolical  Succession  !  What  other 
effect  such  reasoning  can  have  than  that  of  compelling  men 
to  believe  that  there  is  nothing  between  infidelity  and  popery, 
and  of  urging  them  to  make  a  selection  between  the  two,  we 
know  not Indeed,  we  fully  expect  that,  as  a  reac 
tion  of  the  present  extravagances,  of  the  revival  of  obsolete 
superstition,  we  shall  have  ere  long  to  fight  over  again  the 
battle  with  a  modified  form  of  infidelity,  as  now  with  a  modified 
form  of  popery.  Thus,  probably,  for  some  time  to  come,  will 
the  human  mind  continue  to  oscillate  between  the  extremes 


THEIR    CLAIMS   AND   CONFLICTS.  355 

of  error ;  but  with  a  diminished  arc  at  each  vibration ;  until  truth 
shall  at  last  prevail,  and  compel  it  to  repose  in  the  centre.  "  * 
The  offensive  displays  of  self-sufficiency  and  flippancy,  of 
ignorance  and  presumption,  found  in  the  productions  of  the 
apostles  of  the  new  infidelity  of  Oxford  (of  which  we  shall 
have  a  few  words  to  say  by  and  by),  are  the  natural  and  in 
structive,  though  most  painful,  result  of  attempting  to  give 
predominance  to  one  principle  of  our  nature,  where  two  or 
more  are  designed  reciprocally  to  g«ard  and  check  each 
other  ;  and  such  results  must  ever  follow  such  attempts.  The 
excellence  of  man  —  so  complexly  constituted  is  his  nature 
—  must  consist  in  the  harmonious  action  and  proper  balance 
of  all  the  constituents  of  that  nature ;  the  equilibrium  he  sighs 
for  must  be  the  result  of  the  combined  action  of  forces  operat 
ing  in  different  directions;  of  his  reason,  his  faith,  his  appe 
tites,  his  affections,  his  emotions  ;  when  these  operate  each  in 
due  proportion,  then,  and  then  only,  can  he  be  at  rest.  It 
may,  indeed,  transcend  any  calculus  of  man  to  estimate  ex 
actly  the  several  elements  in  this  complicated  polygon  of  for 
ces  ;  but  we  are  at  least  sure  that,  if  any  one  principle  be  so 
developed  as  to  supersede  another,  no  safe  equipoise  will  be 
attained.  We  all  know  familiarly  enough  that  this  is  the 
case  when  the  affections  or  the  appetites  are  more  powerful 
than  the  reason  and  the  conscience,  instead  of  being  in  sub 
jection  to  them  :  but  it  is  not  less  the  case,  though  the  result 
is  not  so  palpable,  when  reason  and  faith  either  exclude  one 
another,  or  trench  tfn  each  other's  domain  ;  when  one  is  pam 
pered  and  the  other  starved,  t  Hence  the  perils  attendant 

/ 

*  Oxford  Tract  School,  Ed.  Eev.,  April,  1843. 

f  It  has  been  our  lot  to  meet  with  disciples  of  the  Oxford  Tract  School 
who  have,  by  a  fatal  indulgence  of  an  appetite  of  belief,  brought  them 
selves  to  believe  any  mediaeval  miracle,  nay,  any  ghost  story,  without 
examination ;  saying,  with  a  solemn  face, "  It  is  better  to  believe  than  to 
reason."  They  at  last  believe  as  they  will  to  believe  ;  and  thus  is  reason 
avenged.  Reason,  similarly  indulged,  believes,  with  Mr.  Foxton  and 
Mr.  Eroude,  that  a  miracle  is  even  an  impossibility ;  and  this  is  the  "  Ne 
mesis  "  of  faith. 


356  REASON   AND    FAITH  : 

upon  their  attempted  separation,  and  the  ruin  which  results 
from  their  actual  alienation  and  hostility.  There  is  no  depth 
of  dreary  superstition  into  which  men  may  not  sink  in  the  one 
case,  and  no  extravagance  of  ignorant  presumption  to  which 
they  may  not  soar  in  the  other.  It  is  only  by  the  mutual  and 
alternate  action  of  these  different  forces,  that  man  can  safely 
navigate  his  little  bark  through  the  narrow  straits  and  by  the 
dangerous  rocks  which  impede  his  course  ;  and  if  Faith 
spread  not  the  sail  to  ifce  breeze,  or  if  Reason  desert  the  helm, 
we  are  in  equal  peril. 

If  it  be  said  that  this  is  a  disconsolate  and  dreary  doctrine  ; 
that  man  seeks  and  needs  a  simpler  navigation  than  this  trouble 
some  and  intricate  course,  by  star  and  ckart,  compass  and 
lead-line  ;  and  that  this  responsibility,  of  ever 

u  Sounding  on  his  dim  and  perilous  way," 

is  too  grave  for  so  feeble  a  nature  ;  we  answer  that  such  is 
his  actual  condition.  This  is  a  plain  matter  of  fact  which 
cannot  be  denied.  The  various  principles  of  his  constitution, 
and  his  position  in  relation  to  the  external  world,  obviously 
and  absolutely  subject  him  to  this  very  responsibility  through 
out  his  whole  course  in  this  life.  It  is  never  remitted  or  abat 
ed  ;  resolves  are  necessitated  upon  imperfect  evidence,  and 
action  imperatively  demanded  amidst  doubts  and  difficulties 
in  which  reason  is  not  satisfied,  and  faith  is  required.  To 
argue,  therefore,  that  God  cannot  have  left  man  to  such  un 
certainty,  is  to  argue  as  the  pertinacious  lawyer  did,  who,  on 
seeing  a  man  in  the  stocks,  asked  him  what  he  was  placed 
there  for ;  and  on  being  told,  said,  "  They  cannot  put  you 
there  for  that"  "  But  I  am  here,"  was  the  laconic  answer. 
The  analogy,  then,  of  man's  whole  condition  in  this  life, 
might  lead  us  to  expect  the  same  system  of  procedure 
throughout ;  that  the  evidence  which  substantiates  religious 
truth,  and  claims  religious  action,  would  involve  this  respon 
sibility  as  well  as  that  which  substantiates  other  kinds  of  truth, 
and  demands  other  kinds  of  action.  And  after  all,  what  else, 


THEIR   CLAIMS    AND   CONFLICTS.  357 

in  either  case,  could  answer  the  purpose,  if  (as  already  said) 
this  world  be  the  school  of  training  of  man's  moral  nature  ? 
How  else  could  the  discipline  of  his  faculties,  the  exercise  of 
patience,  humility,  and  fortitude,  be  secured  ?  How,  except 
amidst  a  state  of  things  less  than  certainty,  —  whether  under 
the  form  of  that  passive  faith  which  mimics  the  possession 
of  absolute  certainty,  or  absolute  certainty  itself,  —  could 
man's  nature  be  trained  to  combined  self-reliance  and  self- 
distrust,  circumspection  and  resolution,  and,  above  all,  to 
confidence  in  God  ?  Man  cannot  be  nursed  and  dandled 
into  the  manhood  of  his  nature,  by  that  unthinking  faith 
which  leaves  no  doubts  to  be  felt,  and  no  objections  to  be 
weighed  ;  nor  can  *his  docility  ever  be  tested,  if  he  is  never 
called  upon  to  believe  any  thing  which  it  would  not  be  an  ab 
surdity  and  contradiction  to  deny.  This  species  of  respon 
sibility,  then,  not  only  cannot  be  dispensed  with,  but  is 
absolutely  necessary;  and  consequently,  however  desirable 
may  appear  that  short  path  to  certainty  which  a  pretended 
infallibility,*  promises  to  man,  or  that  equally  short  path 
which  leads  to  the  same  termination,  by  telling  us  that  we 
are  to  believe  nothing  which  we  cannot  demonstrate  to  be 
true,  or  which,  a  priori,  we  may  presume  to  be  false,  —  both 
the  one  path  and  the  other  must  lead  astray.  In  the  one 
case,  how  can  the  "  reasonable  service  "  which  Scripture  de 
mands,  —  the  enlightened  love  and  conscientious  investigation 
of  truth,  —  its  reception,  not  without  doubts,  but  against  doubts, 
—  how  could  all  this  coexist  with  a  faith  which  presents  the 
whole  sum  of  religion  in  the*  formulary,  "  I  am  to  believe 

*  See  Archbishop  Whately's  admirable  discourse,  entitled,  "  The 
Search  after  Infallibility,  considered  in  reference  to  the  Danger  of  Relig 
ious  Errors  arising  within  the  Church,  in  the  Primitive  as  well  as  in  Later 
Ages."  He  here  makes  excellent  use  of  the  fruitful  principle  of  Butler's 
great  work,  by  showing  that,  however  desirable,  a  priori,  an  infallible 
guide  would  seem  to  fallible  man,  God  in  fact  has  everywhere  denied  it; 
and  that  in  denying  it  in  relation  to  religion,  he  has  acted  only  as  he 
always  acts. 


REASON    AND    FAITH: 

without  a  doubt,  and  perform  without  hesitation,  whatever  my 
guide,  Parson  A.,  tells  me"  ?  Not  that,  even  in  that  case 
(as  has  often  been  shown),  the  man  would  be  relieved  from 
the  necessity  of  absolutely  depending  on  the  dreaded  exercise 
of  his  private  judgment :  for  (unless  each  man  is  to  remit 
his  religion  wholly  to  the  accident  of  his  birth)  he  must  at 
least  have  exercised  it  once  for  all,  and  that  on  two  of  the 
most  arduous  of  all  questions :  first,  which  of  several  churches, 
pretending  to  infallibility,  is  truly  infallible  ?  and  next,  wheth 
er  the  man  may  infallibly  regard  his  worthy  Parson  A.  as  an 
infallible  expounder  of  that  infallibility  ?  But  supposing  this 
stupendous  difficulty  surmounted,  though  then,  it  is  true,  all 
may  seem  genuine  faith,  in  reality  tnere  is  none.  Where  ab 
solute  infallibility  is  supposed  to  have  been  attained  (even 
though  erroneously),  faith,  in  strict  propriety,  —  certainly 
that  faith  which  is  alone  of  any  value  as  an  instrument  of 
men's  moral  training,  which  recognizes  and  intelligently 
struggles  with  objections  and  difficulties,  —  is  impossible. 
Men  may  be  said,  in  such  case,  to  know,  but  can  hardly  be 
said  to  believe.  Before  Columbus  had  seen  America,  he  Re 
lieved  in  its  existence ;  but  when  he  had  seen  it,  his  faith 
became  knowledge.  Equally  impossible,  and  for  the  same 
reason,  is  any  place  for  faith  on  the  opposite  hypothesis ;  for 
if  man  is  to  believe  nothing  but  what  his  reason  can  compre 
hend,  and  to  act  only  upon  evidence  which  amounts  to  cer 
tainty,  the  same  paradox  is  true ;  for  when  there  is  no  reason 
to  doubt,  there  can  be  none  to  believe.  Faith  ever  stands 
between  conflicting  probabilities ;  but  her  position  is  (if  we 
may  use  the  metaphor)  the  centre  of  gravity  between  them, 
and  will  be  proportionally  nearer  the  greater  mass. 

In  the  mean  time,  that  arduous  responsibility  which  at 
taches  to  man,  and  which  is  obviated  neither  by  an  implicit 
faith  in  a  human  infallibility,  nor  an  exclusive  reference  of 
that  faith  to  cases  in  which  reason  is  synonymous  with  dem 
onstration,  that  is,  to  cases  which  leave  no  room  for  faith,  is 
at  once  relieved,  and  effectually  relieved,  by  the  maxim,  — 


THEIR   CLAIMS   AND   CONFLICTS.  359 

the  key-stone  of  ethical  truth,  —  that  only  voluntary  error 
condemns  us,  —  that  all  we  are  really  responsible  for,  is  a 
faithful,  honest,  patient  investigation  and  weighing  of  evi 
dence,  as  far  as  our  abilities  and  opportunities  admit,  and  a 
conscientious  pursuit  of  what  we  honestly  deem  truth,  wher 
ever  it  may  lead  us.  We  concede  that  a  really  dispassionate 
and  patient  conduct  in  this  respect  is  what  man  is  too  ready 
to  assume  he  has  practised,  —  and  this  fallacy  cannot  be  too 
sedulously  guarded  against.  But  that  guilty  liability  to  self- 
deception  does  not  militate  against  the  truth  of  the  representa 
tion  now  made.  It  is  his  duty  to  see  that  he  does  not  abuse 
the  maxim,  —  that  he  does  not  rashly  acquiesce  in  any  con 
clusion  that  he  wishes  to  be  true,  or  which  he  is  too  lazy  to 
examine.  If  all  possible  diligence  and  honesty  have  been 
exerted  in  the  search,  the  statement  of  Chillingworth,  bold  as 
it  is,  we  should  not  hesitate  to  adopt,  in  all  the  vigor  of  his 
own  language.  It  is  to  the  effect,  that,  if  "  in  him  alone 
there  were  a  confluence  of  all  the  errors  which  have  befallen 
the  sincere  professors  of  Christianity,  he  should  not  be  so 
much  afraid  of  them,  as  to  ask  God's  pardon  for  them"; 
absolutely  involuntary  error  being  justly  regarded  by  him  as 
blameless. 

On  the  other  hand,  from  the  natural  relations  of  truth  with 
the  constitution  of  the  mind  of  man,  it  may  well  be  affirmed, 
that,  with  the  exception  of  a  very  few  cases  of  obliquity  of  in 
tellect,  which  may  safely  be  left  to  the  merciful  interpretations 
and  apologies  of  Him  who  created  such  intellects,  those  who 
thus  honestly  and  industriously  "  seek "  shall  "  find,"  — 
not  all  truth,  indeed,  but  enough  to  secure  their  safety ;  and 
that  whatever  remaining  errors  may  infest  and  disfigure  the 
truth  they  have  attained,  these  shall  not  be  imputed  to  them 
for  sin.  According  to  the  image  which  apostolic  eloquence 
has  employed,  the  baser  materials  which  unavoidable  haste, 
prejudice,  and  ignorance  may  have  incorporated  with  the  gold 
of  the  edifice,  ^yill  be  consumed  by  that  fire  which  "  will 
try  every  man's  work  of  what  sort  it  is,''  but  he  himself  will 


360  REASON   AND  FAITH! 

be  saved  amidst  those  purifying  flames.  Like  the  bark 
which  contained  the  Apostle  and  the  fortunes  of  the  Gospel, 
the  frail  vessel  may  go  to  pieces  on  the  rocks,  but  "  by  boat 
or  plank  "  the  voyager  himself  shall  "  get  safe  to  shore." 

It  is.  amply  sufficient,  then,  to  lighten  our  responsibility, 
that  we  are  answerable  only  for  our  honest  endeavors  to  dis 
cover  and  to  practise  the  truth  ;  and,  in  fact,  the  responsibility 
is  principally  felt  to  be  irksome,  and  man  is  so  prompt  by  de 
vices  of  his  own  to  escape  from  it,  not  on  account  of  any 
intrinsic  difficulty  which  remains  after  the  above  limitations 
are  admitted,  but  because  he  wishes  to  be  exempted  from  the 
very  necessity  of  patient  and  honest  investigation.  It  is  not 
so  much  the  difficulty  of  finding,  as  the  trouble  of  seeking, 
the  truth ;  from  which  he  shrinks ;  a  necessity,  however,  from 
which,  as  it  is  an  essential  instrument  of  his  moral  education 
and  discipline,  he  can  never  be  released. 

If  the  previous  representations  be  true,  the  conditions  of 
that  intelligent  faith  which  God  requires  from  his  intelligent 
offspring  may  be  fairly  inferred  to  be  such  as  we  have  al 
ready  stated  ;  —  that  the  evidence  for  the  truths  we  are  to 
believe  shall  be,  first,  such  as  our  faculties  are  competent  to 
appreciate,  'and  against  which,  therefore,  the  mere  negative 
argument  arising  from  our  ignorance  of  the  true  solution  of 
such  difficulties  as  are  perhaps  insoluble  because  we  are 
finite,  can  be  no  reply  ;  and  secondly,  such  an  amount  of  this 
evidence  as  shall  fairly  overbalance  all  the  objections  which 
we  can  appreciate.  This  is  the  condition  to  which  God  has 
obviously  subjected  us  as  inhabitants  of  this  world  ;  and  it  is  on 
such  evidence  we  are  here  perpetually  acting.  We  now  be 
lieve  a  thousand  things  we  cannot  fully  comprehend.  We 
may  not  see  the  intrinsic  evidence  of  their  truth ;  but  their 
extrinsic  evidence  is  sufficient  to  induce  us  unhesitatingly  to 
believe  and  to  act  upon  them.  When  that  evidence  is  suffi 
cient  in  amount,  we  allow  it  to  overbear  all  the  individual 
difficulties  and  perplexities  which  encompass  the  truths  to 
which  it  is  applied,  unless,  indeed,  such  difficulties  can  be 


THEIR    CLAIMS    AND   CONFLICTS.  861 

proved  to  involve  absolute  contradictions ;  for  these,  of 
course,  no  evidence  can  substantiate.  For  example,  in  a 
multitude  of  cases,  a  certain  combination  of  merely  circum 
stantial  evidence  in  favor  of  a  certain  judicial  decision,  is 
familiarly  allowed  to  vanquish  all  apparent  discrepancy  on 
particular  and  subordinate  points;  —  the  want  of  concurrence 
in  the  evidence  of  the  witnesses  on  such  points  shall  not  cause 
a  shadow  of  a  doubt  as  to  the  conclusion.  For  we  feel  that 
it  is  far  more  improbable  that  the  conclusion  should  be  untrue, 
than  that  the  difficulty  we  cannot  solve  is  truly  incapable  of 
a  solution ;  and  when  the  evidence  reaches  this  point,  .the  ob 
jection  no  longer  troubles  us. 

It  is  the  same  with  historic  investigations.  There  are  ten 
thousand  facts  in  history  which  no  one  doubts,  though  the 
narrators  of  them  may  materially  vary  in  their  version,  and 
though  some  of  the  circumstances  alleged  may  be  in  appear 
ance  inexplicable.  But  the  last  thing  a  man  would  think  of 
doing  in  such  cases  would  be,  to  neglect  the  preponderant 
evidence  on  account  of  the  residuum  of  insoluble  objections. 
He  does  not,  in  short,  allow  his  ignorance  to  control  his 
knowledge,  nor  the  evidence  which  he  has  not  got,  to  destroy 
what  he  has  ;  and  the  less  so,  that  experience  has  taught 
him,  that  in  many  cases  such  apparent  difficulties  have  been 
cleared  up,  in  the  course  of  time,  and  by  the  progress  of 
knowledge,  and  proved  to  be  contradictions  in  appearance 
only. 

It  is  the  same  with  the  conclusions  of  natural  philosophy, 
when  well  proved  by  experiment,  however  unaccountable  for 
a  while  may  be  the  discrepancy  with  apparently  opposing 
phenomena.  No  one  disbelieves  the  Copernican  theory 
now,  though  thousands  did  for  a  while,  on  what  they  believed 
the  irrefragable  evidence  of  their  senses.  Now  let  us  only 
suppose  the  Copernican  theory  not  to  have  been  discovered 
by  human  reason,  but  made  known  by  revelation,  and  its  re 
ception  enjoined  on  faith,  leaving  the  apparent  inconsistency 
with  the  evidence  of  the  senses  just  as  it  was.  Many,  no 

31 


362  REASON   AND   FAITH  I 

doubt,  would  have  said  that  no  such  evidence  could  justify 
them  in  disbelieving  their  own  eyes,  and  that  such  an  insol 
uble  objection  was  sufficient  to  overturn  the  evidence.  Yet 
we  now  see,  in  point  of  fact,  that  it  is  not  only  possible,  but 
true,  that  the  objection  was  apparent  only,  and  admitted  of 
a  complete  solution.  Thousands  accordingly  take  this  for 
granted,  without  seeing  it;  they  receive  philosophy  —  this 
very  philosophy  —  on  testimony  which  apparently  contra 
dicts  their  senses,  without  even  yet  knowing  more  of  it  than 
if  it  were  revealed  from  heaven.  This  gives  too  much  reason 
to  suspect,  that  in  other  and  higher  cases  the  will  has  much  to 
do  with  human  scepticism.  Nor  do  we  well  know  what  mul 
titudes,  who  neglect  religion  on  account  of  the  alleged  un 
certainty  of  its  evidence,  could  reply,  if  God  were  to  say  to 
them :  "  And  yet  on  such  evidence,  and  that  far  inferior  in 
degree,  you  have  never  hesitated  to  act,  when  your  own 
temporal  interests  were  concerned.  You  never  feared  to 
commit  the  bark  of  your  worldly  fortunes  to  that  fluctuating 
element.  In  many  cases  you  believed  on  the  testimony  of 
others  what  seemed  even  to  contradict  your  own  senses. 
Why  were  you  so  much  more  scrupulous  in  relation  to- 
ME  ?  » 

The  above  examples  are  fair  illustrations,  we  venture  to 
think,  of  the  conditions  under  which  we  are  required  to  be 
lieve  the  far  higher  truths,  attended  no  doubt  with  great  diffi 
culties,  which  are  authenticated  in  the  pages  of  the  two  vol 
umes  (Nature  and  Scripture)  which  God  has  put  into  our 
hands  to  study  ;  of  the  conditions  to  which  he  subjects  us 
in  training  us  for  a  future  state,  and  developing  in  us  the 
twofold  perfection  involved  in  the  words  "  a  reasonable 
faith."  If  the  considerations  just  urged  were  duly  borne  in 
mind,  we  cannot  help  thinking  that  they  would  afford  (where 
any  modesty  remained)  an  answer  to  most  of  those  forms  of 
unbelief  which,  from  time  to  time,  rise  up  in  the  world,  and 
not  least  in  our  own  day.  These  are  usually  founded  on 
one  or  more  supposed  insoluble  objections,  arising  out  of  our 


THEIR   CLAIMS    AND   CONFLICTS.  363 

ignorance.  The  probability  that  they  are  incapable  of  so 
lution  is  rashly  assumed,  and  made  to  overbear  the  far 
stronger  probability  arising  from  the  positive  and  appreciable 
evidence  which  substantiates  the  truths  involving  those  diffi 
culties  :  a  course  the  more  unreasonable,  inasmuch  as, 
first,  many  such  difficulties  might  be  expected  ;  and  secondly, 
in  analogous  cases,  we  see  that  many  such  difficulties  have 
in  time  disappeared.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is,  no  doubt,  much 
more  easy  to  insist  on  individual  objections,  which  no  man 
can  effectually  answer,  than  it  is  to  appreciate  at  once  the 
total  effect  of  many  lines  of  argument  and  many  sources  of 
evidence,  all  bearing  on  one  point.  That  difficulty  was  long 
ago  beautifully  stated  by  Butler,*  in  a  passage  well  worthy 
of  the  reader's  perusal  ;  and,  as  Pascal  had  observed  before 
him,  not  only  is  it  difficult,  but  impossible;  for  the  human 
mind  to  retain  the  impression  of  a  large  combination  of  evi 
dence,  even  if  it  could  for  a  moment  fully  realize  the  col 
lective  effect  of  the  whole.  But  it  cannot  do  even  this,  any 
more  than  the  eye  can  take  in  at  once,  in  mass  and  detail, 
the  objects  of  an  extensive  landscape. 

Let  us  now  be  permitted  briefly  to  apply  the  preceding 
principles  to  two  of  the  most  momentous  controversies  which 
have  exercised  the  minds  of  men  ;  that  which  relates  to  the 
existence  of  God,  and  that  which  relates  to  the  truth  of  Chris 
tianity  ;  in  both  of  which,  if  we  mistake  not,  man's  position 
is  precisely  similar.  He  is  placed  amidst  evidence  abun- 

*  "  The  truth  of  our  religion,  like  the  truth  of  common  matters,  is  to 
be  judged  of  by  all  the  evidence  taken  together.  And,  unless  the  whole 
series  of  things  which  may  be  alleged  in  this  argument,  and  every  par 
ticular  thing  in  it,  can  reasonably  be  supposed  to  have  been  by  accident 
(for  here  the  stress  of  the  argument  for  Christianity  lies),  then  is  the 

truth  of  it  proved It  is  obvious  how  much  advantage  the  nature 

of  this  evidence  gives  to  those  persons  who  attack  Christianity,  espe 
cially  in  conversation.  For  it  is  easy  to  show,  in  a  short  and  lively 
manner,  that  such  and  such  things  are  liable  to  objection,  but  impossi 
ble  to  show,  in  like  manner,  the  united  force  of  the  whole  argument  in 
one  view."  —  Analogy,  Part  II.  Chap.  VII. 


364  REASON    AND   FAITH  I 

dantly  sufficient  to  justify  his  reasonable  faith,  and  yet  beset 
with  difficulties  abundantly  sufficient  to-  baffle  an  indocile 
reason. 

Without  entering  into  the  many  different  sources  of  argu 
ment  for  the  existence  of  a  Supreme  Intelligence,  we  shall 
only  refer  to  that  proof  on  which  all  theists,  savage  and  civ 
ilized,  in  some  form  or  other,  rely,  —  the  traces  of  an  "  eter 
nal  power  and  godhead  "  in  the  visible  creation.  The  argu 
ment  depends  on  a  principle  which,  whatever  may  be  its 
metaphysical  history  or  origin,  is  one  which  man  perpetually 
recognizes,  which  every  act  of  his  own  consciousness  veri 
fies,  which  he  applies  fearlessly  to  every  phenomenon,  known 
or  unknown  ;  and  it  is  this,  —  That  every  effect  has  a  cause 
(though  he  knows  nothing  of  their  connection),  and  that 
effects  which  bear  marks  of  design  have  a  designing  cause. 
This  principle  is  so  familiar,  that  if  he  were  to  affect  to  doubt 
it,  in  any  practical  case  in  human  life,  he  would  only  be 
laughed  at  as  a  fool,  or  pitied  as  insane.  The  evidence, 
then,  which  substantiates  the  greatest  and  first  of  truths 
mainly  depends  on  a  principle  perfectly  familiar  and  per 
fectly  recognized.  Man  can  estimate  the  nature  of  that 
evidence  ;  and  the  amount  of  it,  in  this  instance,  he  sees  to 
be  as  vast  as  the  sum  of  created  objects  ;  —  nay,  far  more  ; 
for  it  is  as  vast  as  the  sum  of  their  relations.  So  that  if  (as 
is  apt  to  be  the  case)  the  difficulties  of  realizing  this  tremen 
dous  truth  are  in  proportion  to  the  extent  of  knowledge  and 
the  powers  of  reflection,  the  evidence  man  can  perfectly  ap 
preciate  is  cumulative  in  an  equal  or  still  higher  proportion. 
Obvious  as  are  the  marks  of  design  in  each  individual  object, 
the  sum  of  proof  is  not  merely  the  sum  of  such  indications, 
but  that  sum  infinitely  multiplied  by  the  relations  established 
and  preserved  amongst  all  these  objects  ;  by  the  adjustment 
which  harmonizes  them  all  into  one  system,  and  impresses 
on  all  the  parts  of  the  universe  a  palpable  order  and  sub 
ordination.  While  even  in  a  single  part  of  an  organized 
being  (as  a  hand  or  an  eye)  the  traces  of  design  are  not  to 


THEIR   CLAIMS   AND   CONFLICTS.  365 

be  mistaken,  these  are  indefinitely  multiplied  by  similar 
proofs  of  contrivance  in  the  many  individual  organs  of  one 
such  being,  —  as  of  an  entire  animal  or  vegetable.  These 
are  yet  to  be  multiplied  by  the  harmonious  relations  which 
are  established  of  mutual  proportion  and  subserviency  amongst 
all  the  organs  of  any  one  such  being ;  and  as  many  beings 
even  of  that  one  species  or  class  as  there  are,  so  many  mul 
tiples  are  there  of  the  same  proofs.  Similar  indications  yield 
similar  proofs  of  design  in  each  individual  part,  and  in  the 
whole  individual  of  all  the  individuals  of  every  other  class 
of  beings  ;  and  this  sum  of  proof  is  again  to  be  multiplied 
by  the  proofs  of  design  in  the  adjustment  and  mutual  de 
pendence  and  subordination  of  each  of  these  classes  of  or 
ganized  beings  to  every  other,  and  to  all ;  of  the  vegetable  to 
the  animal,  —  of  the  lower  animal  to  the  higher.  Their 
magnitudes,  numbers,  physical  force,  faculties,  functions, 
duration  of  life,  rates  of  multiplication  and  development, 
sources  of  subsistence,  must  all  have  been  determined  in 
exact  ratios,  and  could  not  transgress  certain  limits  without 
involving  the  whole  universe  in  confusion.  This  amazing 
sum  of  probabilities  is  yet  to  be  further  augmented  by  the 
fact,  that  all  these  classes  of  organized  substances  are  inti 
mately  related  to  those  great  elements  of  the  material  world 
in  which  they  live,  to  which  they  are  adapted,  and  which  are 
adapted  to  them  ;  that  all  of  them  are  subject  to  the  influence 
of  certain  mighty  and  subtle  agencies  which  pervade  all  na 
ture, —  and  which  are  of  such  tremendous  potency,  that 
any  chance  error  in  their  proportions  of  activity  would  be 
sufficient  to  destroy  all,  and  which  yet  are  exquisitely  bal 
anced  and  inscrutably  harmonized. 

The  proofs  of  design  arising  from  the  relations  thus  main 
tained  between  all  the  parts,  from  the  most  minute  to  the 
most  vast,  of  our  own  world,  are  still  to  be  further  multiplied 
by  the  inconceivably  momentous  relations  subsisting  between 
our  own  and  other  planets  and  their  common  centre  ;  amidst 
whose  sublime  and  solemn  phenomena  science  has  most 
31* 


366  REASON    AND    FAITH  : 

I 

clearly  discovered  that  every  thing  is  accurately  adjusted  by 
geometrical  precision  of  force  and  movement ;  where  the 
chances  of  error  are  infinite,  and  the  proofs  of  intelligence, 
therefore,  equal.  These  proofs  of  design  in  each  fragment 
of  the  universe,  and  in  all  combined,  are  continually  further 
multiplied  by  every  fresh  discovery,  whether  in  the  minute 
or  the  vast,  —  by  the  microscope  or  the  telescope  ;  for  every 
fresh  law  that  is  discovered,  being  in  harmony  with  all  that 
has  previously  been  discovered,  not  only  yields  its  own  proof 
of  design,  but  infinitely  more,  by  all  the  relations  in  which 
it  stands  to  other  laws  :  it  yields,  in  fact,  as  many  as  there 
are  adjustments  which  have  been  effected  between  itself  and 
all  besides.  Each  new  proof  of  design,  therefore,  is  not  a 
solitary  fact ;  but  one  which,  entering  as  another  element 
into  a  most  complex  machinery,  indefinitely  multiplies  the 
combinations,  in  any  one  of  which  chance  might  have  gone 
astray.  From  -this  infinite  array  of  proofs  of  design,  it 
seems  to  man's  reason,  in  ordinary  moods,  stark  madness 
to  account  for  the  phenomena  of  the  universe  upon  any  other 
supposition  than  that  which  does  account,  and  can  alone  ac 
count,  for  them  all,  —  the  supposition  of  a  Presiding  Intelli 
gence,  illimitable  alike  in  power  and  in  wisdom. 

The  only  difficulty  is  justly  to  appreciate  such  an  argu 
ment,  —  to  obtain  a  sufficiently  vivid  impression  of  such  an 
accumulation  of  probabilities.  This  very  difficulty,  indeed, 
in  some  moods,  may  minister  to  a  temporary  doubt.  For  let 
us  catch  man  in  those  moods, —  perhaps  after  long  medita 
tion  on  the  metaphysical  grounds  of  human  belief,  —  and  he 
begins  half  to  doubt,  with  unusual  modesty,  whether  the 
child  of  dust  is  warranted  to  conclude  any  thing  on  a  subject 
which  loses  itself  in  the  infinite,  and  which  so  far  transcends 
all  his  powers  of  apprehension  ;  he  begins  half  to  doubt, 
with  Hume,  whether  he  can  reason  analogically  from  the 
petty  specimens  of  human  ingenuity  to  phenomena  so  vast 
and  so  unique  ;  a  misgiving  which  is  strengthened  by  reflect 
ing  on  all  those  to  him  incomprehensible  inferences  to  which 


THEIR   CLAIMS   AND   CONFLICTS;  367 

the  admission  of  the  argument  leads  him,  and  which  seem 
almost  to  involve  contradictions.  Let  him  ponder  for  a  while 
the  difficulties  involved  in  the  notion  of  Self-subsistence,  Eter 
nity,  Creation ;  of  Power,  Wisdom,  and  Knowledge,  so  un 
limited  as  to  embrace  at  once  all  things,  and  all  their  relations, 
actual  and  possible,  —  this  "  unlimited  "  expanding  into  a 
dim  apprehension  of  the  "  infinite " ;  of  infinitude  of  attri 
butes,  omnipresent  in  every  point  of  space,  and  yet  but  one 
and  not  many  infinitudes ;  —  let  him  once  humbly  ponder 
such  incomprehensible  difficulties  as  these,  and  he  will  soon 
feel  that,  though  in  the  argument  from  design  there  seemed 
but  one  vast  scene  of  triumph  for  his  reason,  there  is  as  large 
a  scene  of  exertion  left  for  his  faith.  That  faith  he  ordinarily 
yields;  he  sees  it  is  justified  by  those  proofs  of  the  great  truth 
he  can  appreciate,  and  which  he  will  not  allow  to  be  controlled 
by  the  difficulties  his  conscious  feebleness  cannot  solve  ;  and 
the  rather,  that  he  sees  that,  if  he  does  not  accept  that  evidence, 
he  has  equally  incomprehensible  difficulties  still  to  encounter, 
and  two  or  three  stark  contradictions  into  the  bargain.  His 
reason,  therefore,  triumphs  in  the  proofs,  and  his  faith  tri 
umphs  over  the  difficulties. 

It  is  the  same  with  the  doctrine  of  the  Divine  government 
of  the  world.  In  prdinary  states  of  mind,  man  counts  it  an 
absurdity  to  suppose  that  the  Deity  would  have  created  a 
world  to  abandon  it ;  that,  having  employed  wisdom  and  pow 
er  so  vast  in  its  construction,  he  would  leave  it  to  be  the  sport 
of  chance.  He  feels  that  the  intuitions  of  right  and  wrong  ; 
the  voice  of  conscience ;  satisfaction  in  well-doing ;  remorse 
for  crime ;  the  present  tendency,  at  least,  of  the  laws  of  the 
universe,  —  all  point  to  the  same  conclusion,  while  their  im 
perfect  fulfilment  equally  points  to  a  future  and  more  accurate 
adjustment.  Yet  let  the  man  look  exclusively  for  a  while  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  tapestry ;  let  him  brood  over  any  of 
the  facts  which  seem  at  war  with  the  above  conclusion,  — 
on  some  signal  triumph  of  baseness  and  malignity ;  on  op 
pressed  virtue,  on  triumphant  vice  ;  on  "  the  wicked  spreading 


368  REASON    AND    FAITH! 

himself  like  a  green  bay  tree  "  ;  and  especially  on  the  mourn 
ful  and  inscrutable  mystery  of  the  "  Origin  of  Evil,"  —  and  he 
feels  that  "  clouds  and  darkness  "  envelop  the  administration 
of  the  Moral  Governor,  though  doubtless  "justice  and  judg 
ment  are  the  habitation  of  his  throne."  The  evidences  above 
mentioned  for  the  last  conclusion  are  direct  and  positive,  and 
such  as  man  can  appreciate ;  the  difficulties  spring  from  his 
limited  capacity,  or  imperfect  glimpses  of  a  very  small  seg 
ment  of  the  universal  plan.  Nor  are  those  difficulties  less 
upon  the  opposite  hypothesis ;  and  they  are  there  further  bur 
dened  with  two  or  three  additional  absurdities.  The  prepon 
derant  evidence,  far  from  removing  the  difficulties,  scarcely 
touches  them ;  yet  it  is  felt  to  be  sufficient  to  justify  faith, 
though  most  abundant  faith  is  required  still. 

Are  the  evidences,  then,  in  behalf  of  Christianity,  less  of 
a  nature  which  man  can  appreciate ;  or  can  the  difficulties  in 
volved  in  its  reception  be  greater  than  in  the  preceding  cases  ? 
If  not,  and  if,  moreover,  while  the  evidence  turns  as  before 
on  principles  with  which  we  are  familiar,  the  more  formidable 
objections,  as  before,  are  such  that  we  are  not  competent  to 
decide  upon  their  absolute  insolubility,  we  see  how  man  ought 
to  act ;  that  is,  not  to  let  his  ignorance  control  his  knowledge, 
but  to  let  his  reason  accept  the  proofs  which  justify  his  faith 
in  accepting  the  difficulties.  In  no  case  is  he,  it  appears, 
warranted  to  look  for  the  certainty  which  shall  exclude  (what 
ever  the  triumphs  of  his  reason)  a  gigantic  exercise  of  his 
faith.  Let  us  briefly  consider  a  few  of  the  evidences.  And 
in  order  to  give  the  statement  a  little  novelty,  we  shall  indi 
cate  the  principal  topics  of  evidence,  not  by  enumerating 
what  the  advocate  of  Christianity  believes  in  believing  it  to 
be  true,  but  what  the  infidel  must  believe  in  believing  it  to  be 
false.  The  d  priori  objection  to  Miracles  we  shall  briefly 
touch  afterwards. 

First,  then,  in  relation  to  the  Miracles  of  the  New  Testa 
ment,  whether  they  be  supposed  masterly  frauds  on  men's 
senses  committed  at  the  time  and  by  the  parties  supposed  in 


THEIR   CLAIMS   AND   CONFLICTS.  369 

the  records,  or  fictions  (designed  or  accidental)  subsequently 
fabricated,  —  but  still,  in  either  case,  undeniably  successful 
and  triumphant  beyond  all  else  in  the  history  whether  of  fraud 
or  fiction,  —  the  infidel  must  believe  as  follows  :  On  the  first 
hypothesis,  he  must  believe  that  a  vast  number  of  apparent 
miracles,  —  involving  the  most  astounding  phenomena,  — 
such  as  the  instant  restoration  of  the  sick,  blind,  deaf,  and 
lame,  and  the  resurrection  of  the  dead,  —  performed  in  open 
day,  amidst  multitudes  of  malignant  enemies,  —  imposed  alike 
on  a/Z,  and  triumphed  at  once  over  the  strongest  prejudices 
and  the  deepest  enmity  ;  —  those  who  received  them  and  those 
who  rejected  them  differing  only  in  the  certainly  not  very  tri 
fling  particular,  as  to  whether  they  came  from  heaven  or  from 
hell.  He  must*  believe  that  those  who  were  thus  successful 
in  this  extraordinary  conspiracy  against  men's  senses  and 
against  common  sense,  were  Galilean  Jews,  such  as  all  histo 
ry  of  the  period  represents  them  ;  ignorant,  obscure,  illiterate  ; 
and,  above  all,  previously  bigoted,  like  all  their  countrymen,  to 
the  very  system,  of  which,  together  with  all  other  religions  on 
the  earth,  they  modestly  meditated  the  abrogation  ;  —  he  must 
believe  that,  appealing  to  these  astounding  frauds  in  the  face 
both  of  Jews  and  Gentiles  as  an  open  evidence  of  the  truth 
of  a  new  revelation,  and  demanding  on  the  strength  of  them 
that  their  countrymen  should  surrender  a  religion  which  they 
acknowledged  to  be  divine,  and  that  all  other  nations  should 
abandon  their  scarcely  less  venerable  systems  of  superstition, 
they  rapidly  succeeded  in  both  these  very  probable  adven 
tures  ;  and  in  a  few  years,  though  without  arms,  power,  wealth, 
or  science,  were  to  an  enormous  extent  victorious  over  all 
prejudice,  philosophy,  and  persecution  ;  and  in  three  centuries 
took  nearly  undisputed  possession,  amongst  many  nations,  of 
the  temples  of  the  ejected  deities.  He  must  further  believe 
that  the  original  performers,  in  these  prodigious  frauds  on  the 
world,  acted  not  only  without  any  assignable  motive,  but 
against  all  assignable  motive  ;  that  they  maintained  this  uni 
form  constancy  in  unprofitable  falsehoods,  not  only  together, 


370  REASON   AND   FAITH  I 

but  separately,  in  different  countries,  before  different  tribunals, 
under  all  sorts  of  examinations  and  cross-examinations,  and 
in  defiance  of  the  gyves,  the  scourge,  the  axe,  the  cross,  the 
stake ;  that  those  whom  they  persuaded  to  join  their  enter 
prise  persisted  like  themselves  in  the  same  obstinate  belief 
of  the  same  "cunningly  devised"  frauds;  and  though  they 
had  many  accomplices  in  their  singular  conspiracy,  had  the 
equally  singular  fortune  to  free  themselves  and  their  coadju 
tors  from  all  transient  weakness  towards  their  cause  and 
treachery  towards  one  another;  and,  lastly,  that  these  men, 
having,  amidst  all  their  ignorance,  originality  enough  to  invent 
the  most  pure  and  sublime  system  of  morality  which  the  world 
has  ever  listened  to,  had,  amidst  all  their  conscious  villany, 
the  effrontery  to  preach  it,  and,  which  is  more  extraordinary, 
the  inconsistency  to  practise  it !  * 

-  On  the  second  of  the  above-mentioned  hypotheses,  that  these 
miracles  were  either  a  congeries  of  deeply  contrived  fictions, 
or  accidental  myths,  subsequently  fabricated,  the  infidel 
must  believe,  on  the  former  supposition,  that,  though  even 
transient  success  in  literary  forgery,  when  there  are  any  prej 
udices  to  resist,  is  among  the  rarest  of  occurrences,  yet 
that  these  forgeries,  the  hazardous  work  of  many  minds,  mak 
ing  the  most  outrageous  pretensions,  and  necessarily  chal 
lenging  the  opposition  of  Jew  and  Gentile,  were  successful, 
beyond  all  imagination,  over  the  hearts  of  mankind  ;  and  have 
continued  to  impose,  by  an  exquisite  appearance  of  heartless 
truth,  and  a  most  elaborate  mosaic  of  feigned  events  artfully 
cemented  into  the  ground  of  true  history,  .on  the  acutest 
mindsof  different  races  and  different  ages ;  while,  on  the 
second  supposition,  he  must  believe  that  accident  and  chance 


*  So  far  as  we  have  any  knowledge  from  history,  this  must  have  been 
the  case  ;  and  Gibbon  fully  admits  and  insists  upon  it.  Indeed,  no  in 
fidel  hypothesis  can  afford  to  do  without  the  virtues  of  the  early  Chris 
tians  in  accounting  for  the  success  of  the  falsehoods  of  Christianity.  Hard 
alternatives  of  a  wayward  hypothesis ! 


THEIR   CLAIMS  AND   CONFLICTS.  371 

have  given  to  these  legends  their  exquisite  appearance  of  his 
toric  plausibility ;  and  on  either  supposition,  he  must  believe 
(what  is  infinitely  more^  wonderful)  that  the  world,  while  the 
fictions  were  being  published,  and  in  the  known  absence  of 
the  facts  they  asserted  to  be  true,  suffered  itself  to  be  befooled 
into  the  belief  of  their  truth,  and  out  of  its  belief  of  all  the 
systems  it  did  previously  believe  to  be  true  ;  and  that  it  acted 
thus  notwithstanding  persecution  from  without,  as  well  as 
prejudice  from  within  ;  that,  strange  to  say,-  the  strictest  his 
toric  investigations  bring  this  compilation  of  fictions  or  myths 
—  even  by  the  admission  of  Strauss  himself — within  thirty 
or  forty  years  of  the  very  time  in  which  all  the  alleged  won 
ders  they  relate  are  said  to  have  occurred  ;  wonders  which 
the  perverse  world  knew  it  had  not  seen,  but  which  it  was 
determined  to  believe,  in  spite  of  evidence,  prejudice,  and 
perscution !  In  addition  to  all  this,  the  infidel  must  believe 
that  the  men  who  were  engaged  in  the  compilation  of  these 
monstrous  fictions,  chose  them  as  the  vehicle  of  the  purest 
morality  ;  and,  though  the  most  pernicious  deceivers  of  man 
kind,  were  yet  the  most  scrupulous  teachers  of  veracity  and 
benevolence !  Surely  of  him  who  can  receive  all  these  par 
adoxes,  —  and  they  form  but  a  small  part  of  what  might  be 
mentioned,  —  we  may  say,  "  O  infidel,  great  is  thy  Faith  !  " 

On  the  supposition  that  neither  of  these  theories,  whether 
of  fraud  or  fiction,  will  account,  if  taken  by  itself,  for  the 
whole  of  the  supernatural  phenomena  which  strew  the  pages 
of  the  New  Testament,  then  the  objector,  who  relies  on  loth, 
must  believe,  in  turn,  loth  sets  of  the  above  paradoxes ;  and 
then,  with  still  more  reason  than  before,  may  we  exclaim, 
"  O  infidel,  great  is  thy  Faith  !  " 

Again ;  he  must  believe  that  all  those  apparent  coinci 
dences,  which  seem  to  connect  Prophecy  with  the  facts  of  the 
origin  and  history  of  Christianity,— some  embracing  events 
too  vast  for  hazardous  speculation,  and  others,  incidents  too 
minute  for  it,  —  are  purely  fortuitous  ;  that  all  the  cases  in 
which  the  event  seems  to  tally  with  the  prediction  are  mere 


372  REASON   AND   FAITH  J 

chance  coincidences:  and  he  must  believe  this,  amongst 
other  events,  of  two  of  the  most  unlikely  to  which  human 
sagacity  was  likely  to  pledge  itself,  and  yet  which  have  as 
undeniably  occurred  (and  after  the  predictions)  as  they  were 
a  priori  improbable  and  anomalous  in  the  world's  history  ! 
The  one  is,  that  the  Jews  should  exist  as  a  distinct  nation  in 
the  very  bosom  of  all  other  nations,  without  extinction  and 
without  amalgamation,  —  other  nations  and  even  races  hav 
ing  so  readily  melted  away  under  less  than  half  the  influ 
ences  which  have  been  at  work  upon  them  ;  *  the  other,  an 
opposite  paradox,  that  a  religion,  propagated  by  ignorant, 
obscure,  and  penniless  vagabonds,  should  diffuse  itself  amongst 
the  most  diverse  nations  in  spite  of  all  opposition,  —  it  being 
the  west  of  phenomena  to  find  any  religion  which  is  capable 
of  transcending  the  limits  of  race,  clime,  and  the  scene  of  its 
historic  origin  ;  a  religion  which,  if  transplanted,  will  not  die ; 
a  religion  which  is  more  than  a  local  or  national  growth  of 
superstition !  That  such  a  religion  as  Christianity  should  so 
easily  break  these  barriers,  and,  though  supposed  to  be  cradled 
in  ignorance,  fanaticism,  and  fraud,  should,  without  force  of 
arms,  and  in  the  face  of  persecution,  "  ride  forth  conquering 
and  to  conquer  "  through  a  long  career  of  victories,  defying 
the  power  of  kings,  and  emptying  the  temples  of  deities,  — 
who,  but  an  infidel,  has  faith  enough  to  believe  ?  f 

*  The  case  of  the  Gypsies,  often  alleged  as  a  parallel,  is  a  ludicrous 
evasion  of  the  argument.  These  few  and  scattered  vagabonds,  whose 
very  safety  has  been  obscurity  and  contempt,  have  never  attracted  to 
wards  them  a  thousandth  part  of  the  attention,  or  the  hundred-thou 
sandth  part  of  the  cruelties,  which  have  been  directed  against  the  Jews. 
Had  it  been  otherwise,  they  would  long  since  have  melted  away  from 
every  country  in  Europe.  We  repeat,  that  the  existence  of  a  nation  for 
eighteen  hundred  years  in  the  bosom  of  all  nations,  conquered  and  per 
secuted,  yet  never  extinguished,  and  the  propagation  of  a  religion 
amongst  different  races  without  force,  and  even  against  it,  —  are  both,  so 
far  as  known,  paradoxes  in  history. 

t  "  They  may  say,"  says  Butler,  "  that  the  conformity  between  the 
prophecies  and  the  event  is  by  accident ;  but  there  are  many  instances 


THEIR  CLAIMS   AND   CONFLICTS.  373 

Once  more  ;  if,  from  the  external  evidences  of  this  relig 
ion,  we  pass  to  those  which  the  only  records  by  which  we 
know  any  thing  of  its  nature  and  origin  supply,  the  infidel 
must  believe,  amongst  other  paradoxes,  that  it  is  probable  that 
a  knot  of  obscure  and  despised  plebeians  —  regarded  as  the 
scum  of  a  nation  which  was  itself  regarded  as  the  scum  of 
all  other  nations  —  originated  the  purest,  most  elevated,  and 
most  influential  theory  of  ethics  the  world  has  ever  seen  ; 
that  a  system  of  sublimest  truth,  expressed  with  unparalleled 
simplicity,  sprang  from  ignorance  ;  that  precepts  enjoining 
the  most  refined  sanctity  were  inculcated  by  imposture  ;  that 
the  first  injunctions  to  universal  love  broke  from  the  lips  of 
bigotry !  He  must  further  believe,  that  these  men  exempli 
fied  the  ideal  perfection  of  that  beautiful  system  in  the  most 
unique,  original,  and  faultless  picture  of  virtue  ever  conceived, 
—  a  picture  which  has  extorted  the  admiration  even  of  those 
who  could  not  believe  it  to  be  a  portrait,  and  who  have  yet 
confessed  themselves  unable  to  account  for  it  except  as  such.* 
He  must  believe,  too,  that  these  ignorant  and  fraudulent  Gal 
ileans  voluntarily  aggravated  the  difficulty  of  their  task,  by 
exhibiting  their  proposed  ideal,  not  by  bare  enumeration  and 
description  of  qualities,  but  by  the  most  arduous  of  all  meth- 


in  which  such  conformity  itself  cannot  be  denied."  His  whole  remarks 
on  the  subject,  and  especially  those  on  the  impression  to  be  derived  from 
the  multitude  of  apparent  coincidences,  in  a  long  series  of  prophecies, 
some  vast,  some  minute ;  and  the  improbability  of  their  all  being  acci 
dental,  are  worthy  of  his  comprehensive  genius.  It  is  on  the  effect  of 
the  whole,  not  on  single  coincidences,  that  the  argument  depends. 

*  To  Christ  alone,  of  all  the  characters  ever  portrayed  to  man,  be 
longs  that  assemblage  of  qualities  which  equally  attract  love  and  venera 
tion  ;  to  him  alone  belong  in  perfection  those  rare  traits  which  the  Ro 
man  historian,  with  affectionate  flattery,  attributes  too  absolutely  to  the 
merely  mortal  object  of  his  eulogy  :  "  Nee  illi,  quod  est  rarissimum,  aut 
facilitas  auctoritatem,  aut  severitas  amorem,  deminuit."  Still  more  beau 
tiful  is  the  Apostle's  description  of  superiority  to  all  human  failings, 
with  ineffable  pity  for  human  sorrows :  "  He  can  be  touched  with  the 
feeling  of  our  infirmities,  though  without  sin." 
32 


374  REASON   AND   FAITH  : 

ods  of  representation,  —  that  of  dramatic  action;  and,  what 
is  more,  that  they  succeeded ;  that  in  that  representation  they 
undertook  to  make  him  act  with  sublime  consistency  in  scenes 
of  the  most  extraordinary  character  and  the  most  touching 
pathos,  and  utter  moral  truth  in  the  most  exquisite  fictions  in 
which  such  truth  was  ever  embodied  ;  and  that  again  they 
succeeded  ;  that  so  ineffably  rich  in  genius  were  these  obscure 
wretches,  that  no  less  than  four  of  them  were  found  equal 
to  this  intellectual  achievement ;  and  while  each  has  told 
many  events  and  given  many  traits  which  the  others  have 
omitted,  that  they  have  all  performed  their  task  in  the  same 
unique  style  of  invention  and  the  same  unearthly  tone  of  art ; 
that  one  and  all,  while  preserving  each  his  own  individuality, 
has,  nevertheless,  attained  a  certain  majestic  simplicity  of  style 
unlike  any  thing  else,  not  only  in  any  writings  of  their  own  na 
tion,  except  their  alleged  sacred  writings,  and  infinitely  superior 
to  any  thing  which  their  successors,  Jews  or  Christians,  though 
with  the  advantage  of  these  models,  could  ever  attain,  but 
unlike  any  acknowledged  human  writings  in  the  world,  and 
possessing  the  singular  property  of  being  capable  of  ready 
transfusion,  without  the  loss  of  a  thought  or  a  grace,  into 
every  language  spoken  by  man :  he  must  believe  that  these 
fabricators  of  fiction,  in  common  with  the  many  other  con 
tributors  to  the  New  Testament,  most  insanely  added  to  the 
difficulty  of  their  task  by  delivering  the  whole  in  fragments 
and  in  the  most  various  kinds  of  composition,  —  in  biography, 
history,  travels,  and  familiar  letters  ;  incorporating  and  inter 
fusing  with  the  whole  an  amazing  number  of  minute  facts, 
historic  allusions,  and  specific  references  to  persons,  places, 
and  dates,  as  if  for  the  very  purpose  of  supplying  posterity 
with  the  easy  means  of  detecting  their  impositions :  he  must 
believe  that,  in  spite  of  their  thus  encountering  what  Paley 
calls  the  "  danger  of  scattering  names  and  circumstances  in 
writings  where  nothing  but  truth  can  preserve  consistency," 
they  so  happily  succeeded,  that  whole  volumes  have  been  em 
ployed  in  pointing  out  their  latent  and  often  most  recondite  con- 


THEIR    CLAIMS   AND   CONFLICTS.  375 

gruities  ;  many  of  them  lying  so  deep,  and  coming  out  af 
ter  such  comparison  of  various  passages  and  collateral  lights, 
that  they  could  never  have  answered  the  purposes  of  fraud, 
even  if  the  most  prodigious  genius  for  fraud  had  been  equal 
to  the  fabrication ;  congruities  which,  in  -fact,  were  never 
suspected  to  exist  till  they  were  expressly  elicited  by  the  at 
tacks  of  infidelity,  and  were  evidently  never  thought  of  by 
the  writers  :  he  must  believe  that  they  were  profoundly  sa 
gacious  enough  to  construct  such  a  fabric  of  artful  harmonies, 
and  yet  such  simpletons  as,  by  doing  infinitely  more  than 
was  necessary,  to  encounter  infinite  risks  of  detection,  to  no 
purpose  ;  sagacious  enough  to  outdo  all  that  sagacity  has  ever 
done,  as  shown  by  the  effects,  and  yet  not  sagacious  enough  to 
be  merely  specious :  and  finally,  he  must  believe  that  these 
illiterate  impostors  had  the  art,  in  all  their  various  writings, 
which  evidently  proceed  from  different  minds,  to  preserve 
the  same  inimitable  marks  of  reality,  truth,  and  nature,  in  their 
narrations,  —  the  miraculous  and  the  ordinary  alike,  —  and  to 
assume  and  preserve,  with  infinite  ease,  amidst  their  infinite 
impostures,  the  tone  and  air  of  undissembled  earnestness.* 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  he  supposes  that  all  the  congruities 
of  which  we  have  spoken  were  the  effect,  not  of  fraudulent 
design,  but  of  happy  accident,  —  that  these  myths  arranged 
themselves  in  spontaneous  harmony,  —  he  must  believe  that 
chance  has  done  what  even  the  most  prodigious  powers  of  in 
vention  could  not  do.  •.. 

Once  more ;  he  must  believe  that  these  same  illiterate  men, 
who  were  capable  of  so  much,  were  also  capable  of  project 
ing  a  system  of  doctrine  singularly  remote  from  all  ordinary 
and  previous  speculation  ;  of  discerning  the  necessity  of  tak 
ing  under  their  special  patronage  those  passive  virtues  which 
man  least  loved,  and  found  it  most  difficult  to  cultivate  ;  and 


*  Was  there  ever  in  truth  a  man  who  could  read  the  appeals  of  Paul 
to  his  converts,  and  doubt  either  that  the  letters  were  real,  or  that  the 
man  was  in  earnest  ?  We  scarcely  venture  to  think  it. 


376  REASON   AND   FAITH  I 

of  exhibiting,  in  their  preference  of  the  spiritual  to  the  cere 
monial,  and  their  treatment  of  many  of  the  most  delicate 
questions  of  practical  ethics  and  casuistry,  a  justness  and  ele 
vation  of  sentiment  as  alien  as  possible  from  the  superstition 
and  fanaticism  of  their  predecessors  who  had  corrupted  the 
Law,  and  the  superstition  and  fanaticism  of  their  followers, 
who  very  soon  corrupted  the  Gospel ;  that  they,  and  they 
alone,  rose  above  the  strong  tendencies  to  the  extravagances 
which  had  been  so  conspicuous  during  the  past,  and  were 
soon  to  be  as  conspicuous  in  the  future.  These  and  a  thou 
sand  other  paradoxes  (arising  out  of  the  supposition  that 
Christianity  is  {he  fraudulent  or  fictitious  product  of  such  an 
age,  country,  and,  above  all,  such  men  as  the  problem  limits 
us  to)  must  the  infidel  receive,  and  receive  all  at  once  ;  and 
of  him  who  can  receive  them  we  can  but  once  more  declare, 
that,  so  far  from  having  no  "  faith,"  he  rather  possesses  the 
"  faith  "  which  removes  "  mountains  "  !  —  only  it  appears 
that  his  faith,  like  that  of  Rome  or  of  Oxford,  is  a  faith  which 
excludes  reason. 

On  the  other  hand,  to  him  who  accepts  Christianity,  none 
of  these  paradoxes  present  themselves.  On  the  supposition 
of  the  truth  of  the  miracles  and  the  prophecies,  he  does  not 
wonder  at  its  origin  or  success  :  and  as  little  does  he  wonder 
at  all  the  literary  and  intellectual  achievements  of  its  early 
chroniclers,  if  their  elevation  of  sentiment  was  from  a  divine 
source,  and  if  the  artlessness,  harmony,  and  reality  of  their 
narratives  was  the  simple  effect  of  the  consistency  of  truth, 
and  of  transcription  from  the  life. 

Now,  on  the  other  hand,  what  are  the  chief  objections 
which  reconcile  the  infidel  to  his  enormous  burden  of  para 
doxes,  and  which  appear  to  the  Christian  far  less  invincible 
than  the  paradoxes  themselves  ?  They  are,  especially  with 
all  modern  infidelity,  chiefly  founded  on  the  a  priori  improb 
ability  of  the  doctrines  revealed,  and  of  the  miracles  which 
sustain  them.  Now,  here  we  come  to  the  very  distinction  on 
which  we  have  already  insisted,  and  which  is  so  much  insist- 


THEIR    CLAIMS   AND   CONFLICTS.  377 

ed  on  by  Butler.  The  evidence  which  sustains  Christianity 
is  all  such  as  man  is  competent  to  consider  ;  and  is  precisely 
of  the  same  nature  as  that  which  enters  into  his  every-day 
calculations  of  probability  ;  while  the  objections  spring  entirely 
from  our  ignorance  and  presumption.  They  suppose  that  we 
know  more  of  the  modes  of  the  Divine  administration,  —  of 
what  God  may  have  permitted,  of  what  is  possible  and  impos 
sible,  of  the  ultimate  development  of  an  imperfectly  devel 
oped  system,  and  of  its  relations  to  the  entire  universe,  —  than 
we  do  or  can  know.* 

Of  these  objections,  the  most  widely  felt  and  the  most  spe 
cious,  especially  in  our  day,  is  the  assumption  that  miracles 
are  an  impossibility ;  f  and  yet  we  will  venture  to  say  that 
there  is  none  more  truly  unphilosophical.  That  miracles  are 
improbable,  viewed  in  relation  to  the  experience  of  the  indi 
vidual  or  of  the  mass  of  men,  is  granted  ;  for  if  they  were 
not,  they  would,  as  Paley  says,  be  no  miracles ;  an  every 
day  miracle  is  none.  But  that  they  are  either  impossible,  or 
so  improbable  that,  if  they  were  wrought,  no  evidence  could 
establish  them,  is  another  matter.  The  first  allegation  in 
volves  a  curious  limitation  of  Omnipotence  ;  and  the  second 
affirms,  in  effect,  that,  if  God  were  to  work  a  miracle,  it  would 
still  be  our  duty  to  disbelieve  him  ! 

We  repeat  our  firm  conviction,  that  this  a  priori  presump 
tion  against  miracles  is  but  a  vulgar  illusion  of  one  of  Bacon's 
idola  tribus.  So  far  from  being  disposed  to  admit  the  princi 
ple  that  a  "  miracle  is  an  impossibility,"  we  shall  venture  on 
what  may  seem  to  some  a  paradox,  but  which  we  are  con- 

*  The  possible  implication  of  Christianity  with  distant  regions  of  the 
universe,  and  the  dim  hints  which  Scripture  seems  to  throw  out  as  to 
such  implication,  are  beautifully  treated  in  the  4th,  5th,  and  6th  of  Chal 
mers's  "  Astronomical  Discourses  "  ;  and  we  need  not  tell  the  reader  of 
Butler  how  much  he  insists  upon  similar  considerations. 

t  It  is,  as  we  shall  see,  the  avowed  axiom  of  Strauss  ;  he  even  ac 
knowledges  that,  if  it  be  not  true,  he  would  not  think  it  worth  while  to 
discredit  the  history- of  the  Evangelists ;  that  is,  the  history  must  be  dis 
credited,  because  he  has  resolved  that  a  miracle  is  an  impossibility. 
32* 


378  REASON    AND    FAITH: 

vinced  is  a  truth,  —  that  the  time  will  come,  and  is  coming, 
when  even  those  who  shall  object  to  the  evidence  which  sus 
tains  the  Christian  miracles  will  acknowledge  that  philosophy 
requires  them  to  admit  that  men  have  no  ground  whatever  to 
dogmatize  on  the  antecedent  impossibility  of  miracles  in 
general ;  and  that  not  merely  because,  if  theists  at  all,  they 
will  see  the  absurdity  of  this  assertion,  while  they  admit  that 
the  present  order  of  things  had  a  beginning  ;  and,  if  Chris 
tians  at  all,  the  equal  absurdity  of  the  assertion,  while  they 
admit  that  it  will  have  an  end  ;  —  not  only  because  the  ge 
ologist  will  have  familiarized  the  world  with  the  idea  of  suc 
cessive  interventions,  and,  in  fact,  distinct  creative  acts,  hav 
ing  all  the  nature  of  miracles  ;  —  not  only,  we  say,  for  these 
special  reasons,  but  for  a  more  general  one.  The  true  philos 
opher  will  see,  that,  with  his  limited  experience  and  that  of 
all  his  contemporaries,  he  has  no  right  to  dogmatize  about 
all  that  may  have  been  permitted,  or  will  be  permitted,  in 
the  Divine  administration  of  the  universe.  He  will  see  that 
those  who  with  one  voice  denied,  about  half  a  century  ago, 
the  existence  of  aerolites,  and  summarily  dismissed  all  the 
alleged  facts  as  a  silly  fable,  because  it  contradicted  their  ex 
perience,  —  that  those  who  refused  to  admit  the  Copernican 
theory,  because,  as  they  said,  it  manifestly  contradicted  their 
experience,  —  that  the  schoolboy  who  refuses  to  admit  the 
first  law  of  motion,  because,  as  he  says,  it  gives  the  lie  to  all 
his  experience,  —  that  the  Oriental  prince  (whose  scepticism 
Hume  vainly  attempts,  on  his  principle,  to  meet)  who  denied 
the  possibility  of  ice,  because  it  contradicted  his  experience, 
—  and,  in  the  same  manner,  that  the  men  who,  with  Dr. 
Strauss,  lay  down  the  dictum  that  a  miracle  is  impossible,  and 
a  contradiction,  because  it  contradicts  their  experience, — 
have  all  been  alike  contravening  the  first  principles  of  the 
modest  philosophy  of  Bacon,  and  have  fallen  into  one  of  the 
most  ordinary  illusions  against  which  he  has  warned  us  ; 
namely,  that  that  cannot  be  true  which  seems  in  contradic 
tion  to  our  own  experience.  We  confidently  predict  that  the 


THEIR   CLAIMS    AND    CONFLICTS.  379 

day  will  come,  when  the  favorite  argument  of  many  a  so- 
called  philosopher  in  this  matter  will  be  felt  to  be  the  philoso 
phy  of  the  vulgar  only ;  and  that  though  many  may,  even  then, 
deny  that  the  testimony  which  supports  the  Scripture  miracles 
is  equal  to  the  task,  they  will  all  alike  abandon  the  axiom  which 
supersedes  the  necessity  even  of  examining  such  evidence,  by 
asserting  that  no  evidence  can  establish  them. 

While  on  this  subject,  we  may  notice  a  certain  fantastical 
tone  of  depreciation  of  miracles  as  an  evidence  of  Christianity, 
which  is  occasionally  adopted  even  by  some  who  do  not  deny 
the  possibility  or  probability,  or  even  the  fact,  of  their  occur 
rence.  They  affirm  them  to  be  of  little  moment,  and  repre 
sent  them  —  with  an  exquisite  affectation  of  metaphysical 
propriety  —  as  totally  incapable  of  convincing  men  of  any 
moral  truth ;  upon  the  ground  that  there  is  no  natural  rela 
tion  between  any  displays  of  physical  power  and  any  such 
truth.  Now,  without  denying  that  the  nature  of  the  doctrine 
is  a  criterion,*  and  must  be  taken  into  account  in  judging  of 

*  The  alleged  reasoning  in  a  circle,  from  the  doctrine  to  the  miracle, 
and  from  the  miracle  to  the  doctrine,  is  a  favorite  retort  of  infidelity.  It 
is,  in  fact,  no  more  a  vicious  circle  than  is  involved  in  the  great  argu 
ment  for  theism;  that  is,  none  at  all.  In  the  latter  case,  the  works  of 
creation  prove  power  and  wisdom,  and  their  immensely  prevailing  char 
acteristics  also  infer  goodness.  That  immense  preponderance  of  proof 
leads  us  to  extend  thetinference  to  the  residuum  of  phenomena  which,  if 
they  existed  alone,  might  imply  a  malevolent  origin,  or  furnish,  owing  to 
our  ignorance,  no  decisive  indications  at  all.  It  is  the  same  with  mira 
cles  ;  their  prevailing  —  in  the  case  of  the  New  Testament,  we  may  well 
say  their  uniform  —  characteristics  will  show  clearly  enough  whether 
they  originated  with  a  malignant  or  a  benevolent  source ;  and  the  same 
may  be  said  of  the  obvious  character  of  that  portion  of  the  doctrines  the 
nature  and  bearing  of  which  we  can  appreciate.  Having  been  thus  proved 
(if  really  wrought)  to  come  from  heaven  and  not  from  hell,  miracles 
will,  in  their  turn,  legitimately  authenticate  that  portion  of  the  doctrines 
of  which  (as  in  the  case  of  the  natural  phenomena  above  mentioned)  we 
are  incompetent,  from  our  ignorance,  to  judge,  or  which,  like  some  of 
those  same  phenomena,  might,  if  taken  alone,  seem  to  afford  opposite  in 
dications. 


380  REASON   AND    FAITH  ! 

the  reality  of  any  alleged  miracle,  we  have  just  two  things  to 
reply  to  this  :  first,  that  (as  Paley  says  in  relation  to  the  ques 
tion,  whether  any  accumulation  of  testimony  can  establish  a 
miraculous  fact)  we  are  content  "  to  try  the  theorem  upon  a 
simple  case,"  and  affirm  that  man  is  so  constituted,  that  if  he 
himself  sees  the  blind  restored  to  sight,  and  the  dead  raised, 
under  such  circumstances  as  exclude  all  doubt  of  fraud  on 
the  part  of  others,  and  all  mistake  on  his  own,  he  will  uni 
formly  associate  authority  with  such  displays  of  superhuman 
power ;  which,  in  fact,  he  has  uniformly  done,  whenever  he 
has,  however  falsely,  attributed  such  power :  and,  secondly, 
that  the  notion  in  question  is  in  direct  contravention  of  the 
language  and  spirit  of  Christ  himself,  who  expressly  suspends 
his  claims  to  men's  belief,  and  the  authority  of  his  doctrines, 
on  the  fact  of  his  miracles.  "  The  works  that  I  do  in  my 
Father's  name,  they  bear  witness  of  me."  "  If  ye  believe  not 
me,  believe  my  works."  "  If  I  had  not  come  among  them, 
and  done  the  works  which  none  other  man  did,  they  had  not 
had  sin." 

We  have  enumerated  some  of  the  paradoxes  which  infidel 
ity  is  required  to  believe  ;  and  the  old-fashioned,  open,  intel 
ligible  infidelity  of  the  last  century  accepted  them,  and  re 
jected  Christianity  accordingly.  That  was  a  self-consistent, 
simple,  ingenuous  thing,  compared  with  those  monstrous 
forms  of  credulous  reason,  incredulous  faith,  metaphysical 
mysticism,  even  Christian  Pantheism,  so  many  varieties  of 
which  have  sprung  out  of  the  incubation  of  German  rational 
ism  and  German  philosophy  upon  the  New  Testament. 
The  advocates  of  these  systems,  after  adopting  the  most  for 
midable  of  the  above  paradoxes  of  infidelity,  and  (notwith 
standing  the  frequent  boast  of  originality)  depending  mainly 
on  the  same  objections,  and  defending  them  by  the  very 
same  critical  arguments,*  delude  themselves  with  the  idea, 

*  The  main  objection,  both  with  the  old  and  the  new  forms  of  infidel 
ity,  is  that  against  the  miracles;  the  main  arguments  with  both,  those 


THEIR   CLAIMS   AND   CONFLICTS.  381 

that  they  have  purified  and  embalmed  Christianity  ;  not 
aware  that  they  have  first  made  a  mummy  of  it.  They  are 
so  greedy  of  paradox,  that  they,  in  fact,  aspire  to  be  Chris 
tians  and  infidels  at  the  same  time.  Proclaiming  the  miracles 
of  Christianity  to  be  illusions  of  imagination  or  mythical  le 
gends,  and  the  inspiration  of  its  records  no  other  or  greater 
than  that  of  Homer's  "Iliad,"  or  even  ^Esop's  "Fables"; 

—  rejecting   the   whole  of  that   supernatural    element   with 
which  the  only  records  which  can  tell  us  any  thing  about  the 
matter  are  full  ;  —  declaring  its  whole  history  so  uncertain, 
that  the  ratio  of  truth  to  error  must  be  a  vanishing  fraction  ; 

—  the  advocates  of  these  systems  yet  proceed  to  rant  and 
rave  —  they  are  really  the  only  words  we  know  which  can 
express    our  sense  of  their  absurdity  —  in  a  most  edifying 
vein  about  the  divinity  of  Christianity,  and  to  reveal  to  us  its 
true  glories.     "  Christ,"  says  Strauss,  "  is  not  an  individual, 
but  an  idea ;  that  is  to  say,  humanity.      In  the  human  race 
behold  the  God-made-man  !  behold  the  child  of  the  visible 
virgin  and  the  invisible  Father !  —  that  is,  of  matter  and  of 
mind  ;  behold  the  Saviour,  the  Redeemer,  the  Sinless  One  ; 
behold  him  who  dies,  who  is  raised  again,  who  mounts  into 
the   heavens  !      Believe  in  this  Christ !      In  his  death,   his 
resurrection,  man  is  justified  before  God  ! "  *    Well  may  Miil- 

which  attempt  to  show  their  antecedent  impossibility;  and  criticism  di 
rected  against  the  credibility  of  the  records  which  contain  them.  The 
principal  difference  is  that  modern  infidelity  shrinks  from  the  coarse  im 
putation  of  fraud  and  imposture  on  the  founders  of  Christianity ;  and 
prefers  the  theory  of  illusion  or  myth  to  that  of  deliberate  fraud.  But, 
with  this  exception,  which  touches  only  the  personal  character  of  the 
founders  of  Christianity,  the  case  remains  the  same.  The  same  postu 
lates  and  the  same  arguments  are  made  to  yield  substantially  the  same 
conclusion.  For  all  that  is  supernatural  in  Christianity,  and  all  credibil 
ity  in  its  records,  vanish  equally  on  either  assumption.  Nor  is  even  the 
modern  mode  of  interpreting  many  of  the  miracles  (as  illusions  or  le 
gends)  unknown  to  the  elder  infidelity ;  only  it  more  consistently  felt  that 
neither  the  one  theory  nor  the  other  could  be  trusted  to  alone.  Veils  et 
remis  was  its  motto. 
*  Such  is  Quinet's  brief  statement  of  Strauss's  mystico-mythical  Chris- 


382  REASON   AND    FAITH: 

ler  say,  "  And  these  insipidities  of  Pantheism  we  are  to  ac 
cept  as  the  genuine  interpretation  of  the  evangelic  history ! " 
Some,  indeed,  do  not  hesitate  to  say  that  Strauss  himself 
never  believed  these  absurdities  ;  and  they  say  so  in  compas 
sion  to  his  understanding.  They  affirm  that  he  said  these 
things  merely  to  cover  his  infidelity.  They  say  that  one  so 
acute  could  not  really  believe  such  nonsense  ;  or  that,  if  he 
did,  he  must  be  thought  acute  no  more.  But  if  they  thus 
save  his  understanding,  it  is  at  the  expense  of  his  honesty. 
It  would  prove,  not  only  that  Dr.  Strauss  is  critical,  and  not 
seldom  hypercritical,  but  also  hypocritical.  It  must  be  con 
fessed,  however,  that  the  flagitious  manner  in  which,  at 
the  conclusion  of  his  book,  he  has  discussed  the  question, 
whether  a  man,  in  his  own  predicament,  may  not  occupy  the 
place  of  a  Christian  preacher  and  pastor  to  a  congregation  of 
ordinary  Christians,  taking  care  not  to  let  them  penetrate  his 
disguise,  gives  too  much  reason  for  the  imputation.  It  is 
awkward,  certainly,  when  a  man  will  so  act  as  to  give  to  the 
world  only  the  alternative  of  inferring  that  he  has  either  lost 
his  wits,  or  lost  his  integrity.* 

But  whether  it  be  the  Rationalism  of  Paulus,  or  the  Ra 
tionalism  of  Strauss,  —  whether  that  which  declares  all  that 
is  supernatural  in  ^Christianity  (forming  the  bulk  of  its  history) 
to  be  illusion,  or  that  which  declares  it  myth,  —  the  conclu 
sions  can  be  made  out  only  by  a  system  of  interpretation, 
which  can  be  compared  to  nothing  but  the  wildest  dreams  and 
allegorical  systems  of  some  of  the  early  Fathers ;  t  while  the 

tianity,  f  Bunded  on  the  Hegelian  philosophy.  For  a  fuller,  we  dare  not 
say  a  more  intelligible,  account  of  it,  in  Strauss's  own  words,  and  the 
metaphysical  mysteries  on  which  it  depends,  the  reader  may  consult 
I}r.  Beard's  translation ;  —  pp.  44,  45  of  his  Essay,  entitled  "  Strauss, 
Hegel,  and  their  Opinions." 

*  See  Appendix,  No.  I. 

t  Of  the  mode  of  accounting  for  the  supernatural  occurrences  in  the 
Scriptures  by  the  illusion  produced  by  mistaken  natural  phenomena 
(perhaps  the  most  stupidly  jejune  of  all  the  theories  ever  projected  by 
man),  Quinet  eloquently  says :  "  The  pen  which  wrote  the  Provincial 


THEIR   CLAIMS   AND   CONFLICTS.  383 

results  themselves  are  either  those  elementary  principles  of 
ethics  for  which  there  was  no  need  to  invoke  a  revelation  at 
all,  or  some  mystico-metaphysical  philosophy,  expressed  in 
language  as  unintelligible  as  the  veriest  gibberish  of  the  Al 
exandrian  Platonists.  In  fact,  by  such  exegesis  and  by  such 
philosophy,  any  thing  may  be  made  out  of  any  thing ;  and 
the  most -fantastical  data  be  compelled  to  yield  equally  fan 
tastical  conclusions. 

But  the  first  and  most  natural  question  to  ask  is  obviously 
this  :  "  How  any  mortal  can  pretend  to  extract  any  thing  cer 
tain,  much  more  divine,  from  records,  the  great  bulk  of 
which  he  has  reduced  to  pure  frauds,  illusions,  or  legends,  — 
and  the  great  bulk  of  the  remainder  to  an  absolute  uncer 
tainty  of  how  little  is  true,  and  how  much  false  ?  *  Surely 
it  would  need  nothing  less  than  a  new  revelation  to  reveal 
this  sweeping  restriction  of  the  old  ;  and  we  should  even 
then  be  left  in  an  ecstasy  of  astonishment,  —  first,  that  the 
whole  significance  of  it  should  have  been  veiled  in  frauds,  il 
lusions,  or  fictions;  secondly,  that  its  true  meaning  should 
have  been  hidden  from  the  world  for  eighteen  hundred  years 

Letters  would  be  necessary  to  lay  bare  the  strange  consequences  of  this 
theology.  According  to  its  conclusion,  the  tree  of  good  and  evil  was 
nothing  but  a  venomous  plant,  probably  a  manchineal  tree,  under  which 
our  first  parents  fell  asleep.  The  shining  face  of  Moses  on  the  heights 
of  Mount  Sinai  was  the  natural  result  of  electricity ;  the  vision  of 
Zachariah  was  effected  by  the  smoke  of  the  chandeliers  in  the  temple  ; 
the  Magian  kings,  with  their  offerings  of  myrrh,  of  gold,  and  of  incense, 
were  three  wandering  merchants,  who  brought  some  glittering  tinsel  Jo 
the  Child  of  Bethlehem;  the  star  which  went  before  them,  a  servant 
bearing  a  flambeau ;  the  angels  in  the  scene  of  the  temptation,  a  cara 
van  traversing  the  desert,  laden  with  provisions ;  the  two  angels  in  the 
tomb,  clothed  in  white  linen,  an  illusion  caused  by  a  linen  garment ;  the 
Transfiguration,  a  storm."  Who  would  not  sooner  be  an  old-fashioned 
infidel  than  such  a  doting  and  maundering  rationalist  ? 

*  Daub  naively  enough  declares,  that  "  if  you  except  all  that  relates 
to  angels,  demons,  and  miracles,  there  is  scarcely  any  mythology  in  the 
Gospel."  An  exception  which  reminds  one  of  the  Irish  prelate,  who,  on 
reading  "  Gulliver's  Travels,"  remarked  that  there  were  some  things  in 
that  book  which  he  could  not  think  true. 


384  REASON   AND   FAITH  : 

after  its  divine  promulgation  ;  thirdly,  that  it  should  be  re- 
vealed  at  last,  either  in  results  which  needed  no  revelation  to 
reveal  them,  or  in  the  Egyptian  darkness  of  the  allegorico- 
metaphysico-mystico-logico-transcendental  "  formulae  "  of  the 
most  obscure  and  contentious  philosophy  ever  devised  by 
man  ;  and  lastly,  that  all  this  superfluous  trouble  is  to  give 
us,  after  all,  only  the  mysteries  of  a  most  enigmatical  philoso 
phy  :  for  of  Hegel  in  particular,  we  think  it  may  with  truth 
be  said,  that  the  reader  is  seldom  fortunate  enough  to  know 
that  he  knows  his  meaning,  or  even  to  know  that  Hegel  knew 
his  own. 

Whether,  then,  we  regard  the  original  compilers  of  the 
evangelic  records  as  inventing  all  that  Paulus  or  Strauss  re 
jects,  or  sincerely  believing  their  own  delusions  ;  or  hold  that 
their  statements  have  been  artfully  corrupted  or  unconscious 
ly  disguised,  till  Christ  and  his  Apostles  are  as  effectually 
transformed  and  travestied  as  such  dreamers  are  pleased  to  im 
agine,  with  what  consistency  can  we  believe  any  thing  certain 
amidst  so  many  acknowledged  fictions  inseparably  incorpo 
rated  with  it  ?  If  A  has  told  B  truth  once  and  falsehood  fifty 
times  (wittingly  or  unwittingly),  what  can  induce  B  to  believe 
that  he  has  any  reason  to  believe  A  in  that  only  time  in 
which  he  does  believe  him,  unless  he  knows  the  same  truth 
by  evidence  quite  independent  of  A,  and  for  which  he  is  not  in 
debted  to  him  at  all  ?  Should  we  not,  then,  at  once  acknowl 
edge  the  futility  of  attempting  to  educe  any  certain  historic 
fact,  however  meagre,  or  any  doctrine,  whether  intelligible 
or  obscure,  from  documents  nine  tenths  of  which  are  to  be 
rejected  as  a  tissue  of  absurd  fictions  ?  Or  why  should  we 
not  fairly  confess  that,  for  aught  we  can  tell,  the  whole  is  a 
fiction  ?  For  certainly,  as  to  the  amount  of  historic  fact 
which  these  men  affect  to  leave,  it  is  obviously  a  matter  of 
the  most  trivial  importance  whether  we  regard  the  whole  Bi 
ble  as  absolute  fiction  or  not.  Whether  an  obscure  Galilean 
teacher,  who  taught  a  moral  system  which  may  have  been  as 
good  (we  can  never  know  from  such  corrupt  documents  that 


THEIR   CLAIMS   AND   CONFLICTS.  385 

it  was  as  good)  as  that  of  Confucius,  or  Zoroaster,  ever  lived 
or  not ;  and  whether  we  are  to  add  another  name  to  those 
who  have  enunciated  the  elementary  truths  of  ethics,  is  real 
ly  of  very  little  moment.  Upon  their  principles  we  can 
clearly  know  nothing  about  him,  except  that  he  is  the  centre 
of  a  vast  mass  of  fictions,  the  invisible  nucleus  of  a  huge 
conglomerate  of  myths.  A  thousand  times  more,  therefore, 
do  we  respect  those,  as  both  more  honest  and  more  logical, 
who,  on  similar  grounds,  openly  reject  Christianity  altogether  ; 
and  who  regard  the  New  Testament,  and  speak  of  it,  exactly 
as  they  would  of  Homer's  "  Iliad,"  or  Virgil's  "  ^Eneid." 
Such  men,  consistently  enough,  trouble  themselves  not  at  all 
in  ascertaining  what  residuum  of  truth,  historical  or  ethical, 
may  remain  in  a  book  which  certainly  gives  ten  falsehoods 
for  one  truth,  and  welds  both  together  in  undistinguishable 
confusion.  The  German  infidels,  on  the  other  hand,  with 
infinite  labor,  and  amidst  infinite  uncertainties,  extract  either 
truth  "  as  old  as  the  creation,"  and  as  universal  as  human 
reason,  —  or  truth  which,  after  being  hidden  from  the  world  for 
eighteen  hundred  years  in  mythical  obscurity,  is  unhappily 
lost  again  the  moment  it  is  discovered,  in  the  infinitely  deep 
er  darkness  of  the  philosophy  of  Hegel  and  Strauss  ;  who  in 
vain  endeavor  to  gasp  out,  in  articulate  language,  the  still  la 
tent  mystery  of  the  Gospel!  Hegel,  in  his  last  hours,  is 
said  to  have  said,  —  and  if  he  did  not  say,  he  ought  to  have 
said,  —  Alas  !  there  is  but  one  man  in  all  Germany  who  un 
derstands  my  doctrine,  —  and  he  does  not  understand  it ! 
And  yet,  by  his  account,  Hegelianism  and  Christianity, 
"  in  their  highest  results,"  [language,  as  usual,  felicitously 
obscure,]  "  are  one."  Both  therefore  are,  alas  !  now  for 
ever  lost. 

That  great  problem,  to  account  for  the  origin  and  estab 
lishment  of  Christianity  in  the  world  with  a  denial  at  the 
same  time  of  its  miraculous  pretensions,  —  a  problem,  the 
fair  solution  of  which  is  obviously  incumbent  on  infidelity, — 
has  necessitated  the  most  gratuitous  and  even  contradictory 

33 


REASON  AND   FAITH  I 

hypotheses,  and  may  safely  be  said  still  to  present  as  hard  a 
knot  as  ever.  The  favorite  hypothesis,  recently,  has  been 
that  of  Strauss,  —  frequently  remodified  and  readjusted,  in 
deed,  by  himself,  —  that  Christianity  is  a  myth,  or  collection 
of  myths ;  that  is,  a  conglomerate  (as  geologists  would  say) 
of  a  very  slender  portion  of  facts  and  truth,  with  an  enormous 
accretion  of  undesigned  fiction,  fable,  and  superstitions  ;  grad 
ually  framed  and  insensibly  received,  like  the  mythologies  of 
Greece  and  Rome,  or  the  ancient  systems  of  Hindoo  theolo 
gy.  It  is  trtie,  indeed,  that  the  particular  critical  arguments, 
the  alleged  historic  discrepancies,  and  so  forth,  on  which  this 
author  founds  his  conclusions,  are,  for  the  most  part,  not  orig 
inal  ;  most  of  them  having  been  insisted  on  before,  both  in 
Germany  and  more  especially  in  our  own  country,  during  the 
Deistical  controversies  of  the  preceding  century.  His  idea 
of  myths,  however,  may  be  supposed  original ;  and  he  is  very 
welcome  to  it.  For  of  all  the  attempted  solutions  of  the 
great  problem,  this  will  be  hereafter  regarded  as,  perhaps, 
the  most  untenable.  Gibbon,  in  solving  the  same  problem, 
and  starting  in  fact  from  the  same  axioms,  —  for  he  too  en 
deavored  to  account  for  the  intractable  phenomenon  from 
natural  causes  alone,  —  assigned  as  one  cause,  the  reputation 
of  working  miracles,  the  reality  of  which  he  denied  ;  but  he 
was  far  too  cautious  to  decide  whether  the  original  founders 
of  Christianity  had  pretended  to  work  miracles,  and  had  been 
enabled  to  cheat  the  world  into  the  belief  of  them,  or  wheth 
er  the  world  had  been  pleased  universally  to  cheat  itself  into 
that  belief.  He  was  far  too  wise  to  tie  himself  to  the  proof, 
that  in  the  most  enlightened  period  of  the  world's  history,  — 
amidst  the  strongest  contrarieties  of  national  and  religious 
feeling,  —  amidst  the  bitterest  bigotry  of  millions  in  behalf  of 
what  was  old,  and  the  bitterest  contempt  of  millions  for  all  that 
was  new,  —  amidst  the  opposing  forces  of  ignorance  and  preju 
dice  on  the  one  hand  and  philosophy  and  scepticism  on  the  oth 
er,  —  amidst  all  the  persecutions  which  attested  and  proved 
those  hostile  feelings  on  the  part  of  the  bulk  of  mankind, — 


THEIR    CLAIMS   AND    CONFLICTS.  387 

and,  above  all,  in  the  short  space  of  thirty  or  forty  years  (which 
is  all  that  Dr.  Strauss  allows  himself),  —  Christianity  coutd  be 
thus  deposited,  like  the  mythologies  of  Greece  or  Rome  ! 
These,  Gibbon  well  knew,  were  very  gradual  and  silent  for 
mations  ;  originating  in  the  midst  of  a  remote  antiquity  and  an 
unhistoric  age,  during  the  very  infancy  and  barbarism  of  the 
races  which  adopted  them,  and  confined,  be  it  remembered, 
to  those  races  alone  ;  he  knew  that  they  display,  instead  of 
the  exquisite  and  symmetrical  beauty  of  Christianity,  those 
manifest  signs  of  gradual  accretion  which  were  fairly  to  be 
expected  ;  in  the  varieties  of  the  deposited  or  irrupted  sub 
stances,  —  in  the  diffracted  appearance  of  various  parts,  — 
in  the  very  weather-stains,  so  to  speak,  which  mark  the  whole 
mass. 

That  the  prodigious  aggregate  of  miracles,  which  the 
New  Testament  asserts,  would,  if  fabulous,  pass  unchallenged, 
elude  all  detection,  and  baffle  all  scepticism,  —  collect  in  the 
course  of  a  few  years  energetic  and  zealous  assertors  of 
their  reality,  in  the  heart  of  every  civilized  and  almost  every 
barbarous  community,  and  in  the  course  of  three  centuries 
change  the  face  of  the  world,  and  destroy  every  other  myth 
which  fairly  came  in  contact  with  it,  —  who  but  Strauss  can 
believe  ?  Was  there  no  Dr.  Strauss  in  those  days  ?  None 
to  question  and  detect,  as  the  process  went  on,  the  utter  base 
lessness  of  those  legends  ?  Was  all  the  world  doting, —  was 
even  the  persecuting  world  asleep  ?  Were  all  mankind  re 
solved  on  befooling  themselves  ?  Are  men  wont  thus  quietly 
to  admit  miraculous  pretensions,  whether  they  be  prejudiced 
votaries  of  another  system,  or  sceptics  as  to  all  ?  No :  wheth 
er  we  consider  the  age,  the  country,  the  men  assigned  for 
the  origin  of  these  myths,  we  see  the  futility  of  the  theory. 
It  does  not  account  even  for  their  origination,  much  less  for 
their  success.  We  see  that,  if  any  mythology  could  in  such 
an  age  have  germinated  at  all,  it  must  have  been  one  very 
different  from  Christianity  ;  whether  we  consider  the  sort  of 
Messiah  the  Jews  expected,  or  the  hatred  of  all  Jewish  Mes- 


388  REASON    AND    FAITH: 

siahs  which  the  Gentiles  could  not  but  have  felt.  The  Christ 
offered  them,  so  far  from  being  welcome,  was  to  the  one  a 
"  stumbling-block "  and  to  the  other  "  foolishness." 

Let  us  suppose  a  parallel  myth,  —  if  so  we  may  abuse  the 
name.  Let  us  suppose  the  son  of  some  Canadian  carpenter 
aspiring  to  be  a  moral  teacher,  but  neither  working  nor  pre 
tending  to  work  miracles ;  as  much  hated  by  his  countrymen 
as  Jesus  Christ  was  hated  by  his,  and  both  he  and  his  country 
men  as  much  hated  by  all  the  civilized  world  beside,  as  were 
Jesus  Christ  and  the  Jews  :  let  us  further  suppose  him  forbid 
ding  his  followers  the  use  of  all  force  in  propagating  his  doc 
trines,  and  then  let  us  calculate  the  probability  of  an  unnoticed 
and  accidental  deposit,  in  thirty  short  years,  of  a  prodigious 
accumulation,  about  these  simple  facts,  of  supernatural  but 
universally  accredited  fables ;  these  legends  escaping  detection 
or  suspicion  as  they  accumulated,  and  suddenly  laying  hold  in 
a  very  little  time  of  myriads  of  votaries  in  all  parts  of  both 
worlds,  and  in  three  centuries  uprooting  and  destroying  Chris 
tianity  and  all  opposing  systems !  HoV  long  will  it  be  before 
the  Swedenborgian,  or  the  Mormonite,  or  any  such  pretenders, 
will  have  similar  success  ?  Have  there  not  been  a  thousand 
such,  and  has  any  one  of  them  had  the  slightest  chance  against 
systems  in  possession,  —  against  the  strongly  rooted  prejudices 
of  ignorance  and  the  Argus-eyed  investigations  of  scepticism  ? 
But  these  prejudices  of  ignorance  and  this  vigilance  of  scep 
ticism  were  both  opposed  to  the  pretensions  of  Christianity ; 
nor  can  any  one  example  of  at  all  similar  and  sudden  success  be 
alleged,  except  in  the  case  of  Mahomet ;  and  to  that  the  answer 
is  brief.  The  history  of  Mahomet  is  the  history  of  a  conquer 
or,  —  and  his  logic  was  the  logic  of  the  sword. 

In  spite  of  the  theory  of  Strauss,  therefore,  not  less  than 
that  of  Gibbon,  the  old  and  ever-recurring  difficulty  of  giving 
a  rational  account  of  the  origin  and  establishment  of  Chris 
tianity  still  presents  itself  for  solution  to  the  infidel,  as  it  al 
ways  has  done,  and,  we  venture  to  say,  always  will  do.  It 
is  an  insoluble  phenomenon,  except  by  the  admission  of  the 


THEIR   CLAIMS    AND   CONFLICTS.  389 

facts  of  the  New  Testament.  "  The  miracles,"  says  Butler, 
"  are  a  satisfactory  account  of  the  events,  of  which  no  other 
satisfactory  account  can  be  given  :  nor  any  account  at  all, 
but  what  is  imaginary  merely  and  invented." 

hi  the  mean  time,  the  different  theories  of  unbelief  mutually 
refute  one  another ;  and  we  may  plead  the  authority  of  one 
against  the  authority  of  another.  Those  who  believe  Strauss 
believe  both  the  theory  of  imposture  and  the  theory  of  illusion 
improbable  ;  and  those  who  believe  in  the  theory  of  imposture 
believe  the  theory  of  myths  improbable.  And  both  parties, 
we  are  glad  to  think,  are  quite  right  in  the  judgment  they 
form  of  one  another. 

But  what  must  strike  every  one  who  reflects  as  the  most 
surprising  thing  in  Dr.  Strauss  is,  that,  with  the  postulatum 
with  which  he  sets  out,  and  which  he  modestly  takes  for 
granted  as  too  evident  to  need  proof,  he  should  have  thought 
it  worth  while  to  write  two  bulky  volumes  of  minute  criticism 
on  the  subject.  A  miracle  he  declares  to  be  an  absurdity, 
a  contradiction  an  impossibility.  If  we  believed  this,  we 
should  deem  a  very  concise  enthymem  (after  having  proved 
that  postulatum  though)  all  that  was  necessary  to  construct 
on  the  subject.  A  miracle  cannot  be  true  ;  ergo,  Chris 
tianity,  which  in  the  only  records  by  which  ,we  know  any 
thing  about  it  avows  its  absolute  dependence  upon  miracles, 
must  be  false.* 

It  is  a  modification  of  one  or  other  of  these  monstrous  forms 
of  unbelieving  belief  and  Christian  infidelity,  that  Mr.  Foxton, 
late  of  Oxford,  has  adopted  in  his  "  Popular  Christianity  " ; 
as  perhaps  also  Mr.  Froude  in  his  "  Nemesis."  It  is  not  very 
easy,  indeed,  to  say  what  Mr.  Foxton  positively  believes  ; 
having,  in  common  with  his  German  prototypes,  a  greater  fa 
cility  of  telling  us  what  he  does  not  believe,  and  of  wrapping 
up  what  he  does  believe  in  a  most  impregnable  mysticism. 
He  certainly  rejects,  however,  all  that  which,  when  rejected 

*  For  some  further  remarks  on  Dr.  Strauss's  work,  see  Appendix,  No.  I. 
33* 


390  REASON    AND    FAITH  I  { 

a  century  ago,  left,  in  the  estimate  of  every  one,  an  infidel 
in  puris  naturalibus.  Like  his  German  acquaintances,  he 
accepts  the  infidel  paradoxes,  — only,  like  them,  he  will  still  be 
a  Christian.  He  believes,  with  Strauss,  that  a  miracle  is  an 
impossibility  and  contradiction,  —  "  incredible  per  se."  As 
to  the  inspiration  of  Christ,  he  regards  it  as,  in  its  nature, 
the  same  as  that  of  Zoroaster,  Confucius,  Mahomet,  Plato, 
Luther,  and  Wickliffe,  —  a  curious  assortment  of  "  heroic 
souls."  *  With  a  happy  art  of  confusing  the  "  gifts  of  genius," 
no  matter  whether  displayed  in  intellectual  or  moral  power, 
and  of  forgetting  that  other  men  are  not  likely  to  overlook 
the  difference,  he  declares  "  the  wisdom  of  Solomon  and  the 
poetry  of  Isaiah  the  fruit  of  the  same  inspiration  which  is 
popularly  attributed  to  Milton  or  Shakspeare,  or  even  to  the 
homely  wisdom  of  Benjamin  Franklin  "  ;  t  in  the  same  pleas 
ant  confusion  of  mind,  he  thinks  that  the  "  pens  of  Plato,  of 
Paul,  and  of  Dante,  the  pencils  of  Raphael  and  of  Claude, 
the  chisels  of  Canova  and  of  Chantrey,  no  less  than  the  voices 
of  Knox,  of  Wickliffe,  and  of  Luther,  are  ministering  instru 
ments,  in  different  degrees,  of  the  same  spirit."  J  "  We  find," 
he  says,  "  both  in  the  writers  and  the  records  of  Scripture, 
every  evidence  of  human  infirmity  that  can  possibly  be  con 
ceived  ;  and  yet  we  are  to  believe  that  God  himself  specially 
inspired  them  with  false  philosophy,  vicious  logic,  and  bad 
grammar  !  "  §  He  denies  the  originality  both  of  the  Chris 
tian  ethics  (which,  he  says,  are  a  gross  plagiarism  from 
Plato),  as  also  in  great  part  of  the  system  of  Christian  doc 
trine.  ||  Nevertheless,  it  would  be  quite  a  mistake,  it  seems, 

*  Pp.  62,  63.  t  P.  72.  J  P.  77.  §  P.  74. 

||  Pp.  51  -60.  We  are  hardly  likely  to  yield  to  Mr.  Foxton  in  our 
love  of  Plato,  for  whom  we  have  expressed,  and  that  very  recently  (April, 
1848),  no  stinted  admiration:  and  what  we  have  there  affirmed  we  are 
by  no  means  disposed  to  retract,  —  that  no  ancient  author  has  approached, 
in  the  expression  of  ethical  truth,  so  near  to  the  maxims,  and  some 
times  the  very  expressions,  of  the  Gospel.  Nevertheless,  we  as  strongly 
affirm,  that  he  wio  contrasts  (whatever  the  occasional  sublimity  of  ex- 


THEIR   CLAIMS   AND    CONFLICTS.  391 

to  suppose  that  Mr.  Foxton  is  no  Christian  !  He  is,  on  the 
contrary,  among  the  very  few  who  can  tell  us  what  Christianity 
really  is,  and  who  can  separate  the  falsehoods  and  the  myths 


pression)  the  faltering  and  often  sceptical  tone  of  Plato  on  religious  sub 
jects  with  the  uniformity  and  decision  of  the  Evangelical  system,  —  his 
dark  notions  in  relation  to  God  (candidly  confessed)  with  the  glorious  rec 
ognition  of  him  in  the  Gospel  as  "  our  Father,"  — his  utterly  absurd  appli 
cation  of  his  general  principles  of  morals,  in  his  most  Utopian  of  all  Re 
publics,  with  the  broad,  plain,  social  ethics  of  Christianity,  —  the  tone  of 
mournful  familiarity  (whatever  his  personal  immunity)  in  which  he  too 
often  speaks  of  the  saddest  pollutions  that  ever  degraded  humanity,  with 
the  spotless  purity  of  the  Christian  rule  of  life,  —  the  hesitating,  specula 
tive  tone  of  the  Master  of  the  Academy  with  the  decision  and  majesty  of 
Him  who  "  spake  with  authority,  and  not  as  the  Scribes,"  whether  Greek 
or  Jewish,  —  the  metaphysical  and  abstract  character  of  Plato's  reason 
ings  with  the  severely  practical  character  of  Christ's,  —  the  feebleness  of 
the  motives  supplied  by  the  abstractions  of  the  one,  and  the  intensity  of 
those  supplied  by  the  other,  —  the  adaptation  of  the  one  to  the  intelligent 
only,  and  the  adaptation  of  the  other  to  universal  humanity,  —  the  very 
manner  of  Plato,  his  gorgeous  style,  at  least  in  those  elevated  portions  of 
his  works  in  which  he  reaches  the  moral  sublime,  with  the  still  more  im 
pressive  simplicity  of  the  Great  Teacher,  —  must  surely  see  in  the  con 
trast  every  indication,  to  say  nothing  of  the  utter  gratuitousness  (histori 
cally)  of  the  contrary  hypothesis,  that  the  sublime  ethics  of  the  Gospel, 
whether  we  regard  substance,  or  manner,  or  tone,  or  style,  are  no  pla 
giarism  from  Plato.  As  for  the  man  who  can  hold  such  a  notion,  he 
must  certainly  be  very  ignorant  either  of  Plato  or  of  Christ.  As  the  best 
apology  for  Mr.  Foxton's  offensive  folly,  perhaps  it  may  be  charitably 
hoped  that  he  is  nearly  ignorant  of  both.  From  his  exclusive  dependence 
on  the  antiquated  production  of  the  undiscriminating  and  enthusiastic 
Dacier,  one  might  conjecture  that  Mr.  Foxton's  Platonic  studies  lie  prin 
cipally  there  5  while  Tindal's  "  Christianity  as  old  as  the  creation  "  might 
be  the  source  of  his  Theology.  —  Equally  absurd  is  the  attempt  to  iden 
tify  the  metaphysical  dreams  of  Plato  with  the  doctrinal  system  of  the 
Gospel,  though  it  is  quite  true,  that,  loj?g  subsequent  to  Christ,  the  Pla- 
tonizing  Christians  tried  to  accommodate  the  speculations  of  the  sage 
they  loved  to  the  doctrines  of  a  still  greater  master.  It  may  be  said,  per 
haps,  that  a  Christian  is  no  competent  judge  of  the  superiority  of  the 
ethics  of  Christ  to  those  of  Plato.  He  may  content  himself  with  saying 
that  Plato  never  extorted  from  his  friends  stronger  eulogies  than  Christ 
has  often  extorted  from  his  enemies. 


392  REASON    AND    FAITH  I 

which  have  so  long  disguised  it.  He  even  talks  most  spirit 
ually  and  with  an  edifying  onction.  He  tells  us  :  "  '  God  was,' 
indeed,  '  in  Christ,  reconciling  the  world  unto  himself.' 
And  but  little  deduction  need  be  made  from  the  rapturous 
language  of  Paul,  who  tells  us  that  '  in  him  dwelt  all  the  ful 
ness  of  the  Godhead  bodily?  *  I  concede  to  Christ  "  (gen 
erous  admission !)  "  the  highest  inspiration  hitherto  granted 
to  the  prophets  of  God,"  —  Mahomet,  it  appears,  and  Zoroas 
ter,  and  Confucius,  having  also  statues  in  his  truly  catholic 
Pantheon.  "  The  position  of  Christ,"  he  tells  us  in  another 
place,  is  "simply  that  of  the  foremost  man  in  all  the  world," 
though  he  "  soars  far  above  '  all  principalities  and  powers,' 

—  above  all  philosophies  hitherto  known,  —  above  all  creeds 
hitherto  propagated  in   his  name  "  ;  —  the  true  Christian  doc 
trine,  after  having  been  hid  from  ages  and  generations,  being 
reserved  to  be  disclosed,  we  presume,  by  Mr.  Foxton.     His 
spiritualism,  as  usual  with  the  whole  school  of  our  new  Chris 
tian  infidels,  is,  of  course,  exquisitely  refined,  —  but,  unhap 
pily,  very  vague.     He  is  full  of  talk  about  "  a  deep  insight," 

—  a  "  faith  not  in  dead  histories,  but  in  living  realities,  —  a 
revelation  to  our  innermost  nature."     "  The  true  seer,"  he 
says,  "  looking  deep  into  causes,  carries  in  his  heart  the  sim 
ple  wisdom  of  God.     The  secret  harmonies  of  nature  vibrate 
on  his  ear,  and  her  fair  proportions  reveal  themselves  to  his 
eye.     He  has  a  deep  faith  in  the  truth  of  God."  t     "  The  in 
spired  man  is  one  whose  outward  life  derives  all  its  radiance 
from  the  light  within  him.     He  walks  through  stony  places 
by  the  light  of  his  own  soul,  and  stumbles  not.     No  human 
motive  is  present  to  such  a  mind  in  its  highest  exultation, — 
no  love  of  praise,  —  no  desire  of  fame,  —  no   affection,  no 
passion,  mingles  with  the  divine  afflatus,  which  passes  over 
without  ruffling  the  soul."  J     And  a  great  many  fine  phrases 
of  the  same  kind,  equally  innocent  of  all  meaning. 

It  is  amazing,  and  amusing  to  see  with  what  ease  Mr.  Fox- 

*  P.  95.  t  P.  146.  j  p.  44. 


THEIR   CLAIMS   AND    CONFLICTS.  393 

ton  decides  points  which  have  filled  folios  of  controversy. 
"  In  the  teaching  of  Christ  himself,  there  is  not  the  slightest 
allusion  to  the  modern  evangelical  notion  of  an  atonement." 
"The  diversities  of  'gifts'  to  which  Paul  alludes  (1  Cor. 
xii.)  are  nothing  more  than  those  different  'gifts'  which, 
in  common  parlance,  we  attribute  to  the  various  tempers  and 
talents  of  men."  *  "  It  is,  however,  after  all,  absurd  to  sup 
pose  that  the  miracles  of  the  Scriptures  are  subjects  of  actual 
belief,  either  to  the  vulgar  or  the  learned."  t  What  an  easy 
time  of  it  must  such  a  controvertist  have  ! 

He  thinks  it  possible,  too,  that  Christ,  though  nothing 
more  than  an  ordinary  man,  may  really  have  "  thought  himself 
divine,"  without  being  liable  to  the  charge  of  a  visionary  self- 
idolatry,  or  blasphemy,  —  as  hitherto  supposed  by  every  body, 
Trinitarian  or  Unitarian,  except  Mr.  Foxton.  He  accounts 
for  it  by  the  "  wild  sublimity  of  human  emotion,  when  the  rapt 
spirit  first  feels  the  throbbings  of  the  divine  afflatus,"  &c.,  &c. 
A  singular  afflatus  which  teaches  a  man  to  usurp  the  name 
and  prerogatives  of  Deity,  and  a  strange  "  inspiration  "  which 
inspires  him  with  so  profound  an  ignorance  of  his  own  nature  ! 
This  interpretation,  we  believe,  is  peculiarly  Mr.  Foxton's  own. 

The  way  in  which  he  disposes  of  the  miracles  is  essential 
ly  that  of  an  undiscriminating,  unphilosophic  mind.  There 
have  been,  he  tells  us  in  effect,  so  many  false  miracles,  su 
perstitious  stories  of  witches,  conjurors,  ghosts,  hobgoblins, 
of  cures  by  royal  touch,  and  the  like,  —  and  therefore  the 
Scripture  miracles  are  false  !  Why,  who  denies  that  there 
have  been  plenty  of  false  miracles  ?  And  there  have  been 
as  many  false  religions.  Is  there,  therefore,  none  true  ?  The 
proper  business  in  every  such  case  is  to  examine  fairly  the 
evidence,  and  not  to  generalize  after  this  absurd  fashion. 
Otherwise  we  shall  never  believe  any  thing  ;  for  there  is  hard 
ly  one  truth  that  has  not  its  half-score  of  audacious  coun 
terfeits. 

Still  our  author  is  amusingly  perplexed,  like  all  the  rest  of 

*  P.  67.  t  P.  104. 


394  REASON    AND    FAITH  : 

the  infidel  world,  how  to  get  rid  of  the  miracles,  —  whether 
on  the  principle  of  fraud,  or  fiction,  or  illusion.  He  thinks 
there  would  be  "  a  great  accession  to  the  ranks  of  reason  and 
common  sense  by  disproving  the  reality  of  the  miracles,  with 
out  damaging  the  veracity  or  honesty  of  the  simple,  earnest, 
and  enthusiastic  writers  by  whom  they  are  recorded  "  ;  and 
complains  of  the  coarse  and  undiscriminating  criticism  of 
most  of  the  French  and  English  Deists,  who  explain  the  mir 
acles  "  on  the  supposition  of  the  grossest  fraud  acting  on  the 
grossest  credulity."  But  he  soon  finds  that  the  materials  for 
such  a  compromise  are  utterly  intractable.  He  thinks  that 
the  German  Rationalists  have  depended  too  much  on  some 
"  single  hypothesis,  which  often  proves  to  be  insufficient  to 
meet  the  great  variety  of  conditions  and  circumstances  with 
which  the  miracles  have  been  handed  down  to  us."  Very 
true ;  but  what  remedy  ?  "  We  find  one  German  writer 
endeavoring  to  explain  away  the  miracles  on  the  mystical 
(mythical)  theory ;  and  another  riding  into  the  arena  of  contro 
versy  on  the  miserable  hobby-horse  of  '  clairvoyance '  or 
1  mesmerism  ' ;  each  of  these,  and  a  host  of  others  of  the  same 
class,  rejecting  whatever  light  is  thrown  on  the  question  by 
all  the  theories  together."  Mr.  Foxton  therefore  proposes, 
with  great  and  gratuitous  liberality,  to  heap  all  these  theories 
together,  and  to  take  them  as  they  are  wanted ;  not  withhold 
ing  any  of  the  wonders  of  modern  science  —  even,  as  would 
seem,  the  possible  knowledge  of  "  chloroform  "  *  —  from  the 
propagators  of  Christianity ! 

But,  alas  !  the  phenomena  are  still  intractable.  The  stub 
born  "  Book,"  in  its  very  structure,  baffles  all  such  efforts  to 
explain  it  away ;  it  is  willing  to  be  rejected,  if  it  so  pleases 
men,  but  it  guards  itself  from  being  thus  made  a  fool  of. 
For  who  can  fail  to  see  that  neither  all  nor  any  considerable 
part  of  the  multifarious  miracles  of  the  New  Testament  can 
be  explained  by  any  such  gratuitous  extension  of  ingenious 

*  Pp.  86,  87. 


THEIR   CLAIMS   AND   CONFLICTS.  395 

fancies ;  and  that  if  they  could  be  so  explained,  it  would  be 
still  impossible  to  exculpate  the  men  who  need  such  explana 
tions  from  the  charge  of  perpetrating  the  grossest  frauds  ! 
Yet  our  logical  ostrich,  who  can  digest  all  these  stones,  pre 
sumptuously  declares  a  miracle  an  impossibility,  and  the  very 
notion  of  it  a  contradiction.* 

There  are  no  doubt  some  minds  amongst  us,  whose  power 
we  admit,  and  whose  perversion  of  power  we  lament,  who 
have  bewildered  themselves  by  really  deep  meditation  on 
inexplicable  mysteries ;  who  demand  certainty  where  certain 
ty  is  not  given  to  man,  or  demand  for  truths  which  are  estab 
lished  by  sufficient  evidence,  other  evidence  than  those  truths 
will  admit.  We  can  even  painfully  sympathize  in  that  ordeal 
of  doubt  to  which  such  minds  are  peculiarly  exposed,  —  with 
their  Titanic  struggles  against  the  still  mightier  power  of 
Him  who  has  said  to  the  turbulent  intellect  of  man,  as  well 
as  to  the  stormy  ocean,  "  Hitherto  shalt  thou  come,  but  no 
further ;  and  here  shall  thy  proud  waves  be  staid."  We 
cannot  wish  better  to  any  such  agitated  mind  than  that  it  may 
listen  to  those  potent  and  majestic  words,  "  Peace,  be 
still ! "  uttered  by  the  voice  of  Him  who  so  suddenly  hushed 
the  billows  of  the  Galilean  lake. 

But  we  are  at  the  same  time  fully  convinced  that  in  our 
day  there  are  thousands  of  youths  who  are  falling  into  the 
same  errors  and  perils  from  sheer  vanity  and  affectation  ; 
who  admire  most  what  they  least  understand,  and  adopt  all 

*  Mr.  Foxton  denies  that  men,  in  Paley's  "  single  case,  in  which  he 
tries  the  general  theorem,"  would  believe  the  miracle ;  but  he  finds  ti  con 
venient  to  leave  out  the  most  significant  circumstances  on  which  Paley 
makes  the  validity  of  the  testimony  to  depend,  instead  of  stating  them 
fairly  in  Paley's  own  words.  Yet  that  the  sceptics  (if  such  there  could 
be)  must  be  the  merest  fraction  of  the  species,  Mr.  Foxton  himself  imme 
diately  proceeds  to  prove,  by  showing  (what  is  undeniably  the  case)  that 
almost  all  mankind  readily  receive  miraculous  occurrences  on  far  lower 
evidence  than  Paley's  common  sense  would  require  them  to  demdnd. 
Surely  he  must  be  related  to  the  Irishman  who  placed  his  ladder  against 
the  bough  he  was  cutting  off. 


REASON   AND   FAITH  : 

the  obscurities  and  paradoxes  they  stumble  upon,  as  a  cheap 
path  to  a  reputation  for  profundity  ;  who  awkwardly  imitate 
the  manner  and  retail  the  phrases  of  the  writers  they  study  ; 
and,  as  usual  in  such  cases,  exaggerate  to  caricature  their 
least  agreeable  eccentricities.  We  should  think  that  some 
of  these  more  powerful  minds  must  be  by  this  time  ashamed 
of  that  ragged  regiment  of  most  shallow  thinkers,  and  ob 
scure  writers  and  talkers,  who  at  present  infest  our  literature, 
and  whose  parrot-like  repetition  of  their  own  stereotyped 
phraseology,  mingled  with  some  barbarous  infusion  of  half- 
Anglicized  German,  threatens  to  form  as  odious  a  cant  as 
ever  polluted  the  stream  of  thought,  or  disfigured  the  purity 
of  language.  Happily,  it  is  not  likely  to  be  more  than  a 
passing  fashion  ;  but  still  it  is  a  very  unpleasant  fashion  while 
it  lasts.  As  in  Johnson's  day  every  young  writer  imitated 
as  well  as  he  could  the  ponderous  diction  and  everlasting 
antitheses  of  the  great  dictator ;  as  in  Byron's  day  there 
were  thousands  to  whom  the  world  "  was  a  blank  "  at  twenty 
or  thereabouts,  and  of  whose  "  dark  imaginings,"  as  Macau- 
lay  says,  the  waste  was  prodigious  ;  so  now  there  are  hun 
dreds  of  dilettanti  pantheists,  mystics,  and  sceptics,  to  whom 
every  thing  is  a  "  sham,"  an  "  unreality  "  ;  who  tell  us  that 
the  world  stands  in  need  of  a  great  "  prophet,"  a  "  seer,"  a 
"  true  priest,"  a  "  large  soul,"  a  "  god-like  soul,"  *' —  who 
shall  dive  into  "  the  depths  of  the  human  consciousness," 
and  whose  "  utterances  "  shall  rouse  the  human  mind  from 
the  "  cheats  and  frauds  "  which  have  hitherto  everywhere 
practised  on  its  simplicity.  They  tell  us,  in  relation  to  phi 
losophy,  religion,  and  especially  in  relation  to  Christianity, 
that  all  that  has  been  believed  by  mankind  has  been  believed 

*  See  Mr.  Foxton's  last  chapter,  passim.  From  some  expressions, 
one  would  almost  imagine  that  our  author  himself  aspjged  to  be,  if  not 
the  Messiah,  at  least  the  Elias,  of  this  new  dispensation.  We  fear, 
however,  that  this  "  vox  clamantis  "  would  reverse  the  Baptist's  procla 
mation,  and  would  cry,  "  The  straight  shall  be  made  crooked,  and  the 
plain  places  rough.1" 


THEIR    CLAIMS    AND    CONFLICTS.  397 

only  on  "  empirical  "  grounds  ;  aud  that  the  old  answers  to 
difficulties  will  do  no  longer.  They  shake  their  sage  heads 
at  such  men  as  Clarke,  Paley,  Butler,  and  declare  that  such 
arguments  as  theirs  will  not  satisfy  them.  We  are  glad  to 
admit  that  all  this  vague  pretension  is  now  but  rarely  dis 
played  in  conjunction  with  the  scurrilous  spirit  of  that  elder 
unbelief  against  which  the  long  series  of  British  apologists 
for  Christianity  arose  between  1700  and  1750  ;  but  there  is 
often  in  it  an  arrogance  as  real,  though  not  in  so  offensive  a' 
form.  Sometimes  the  spirit  of  unbelief  even  assumes  an 
air  of  sentimental  regret  at  its  own  inconvenient  profundity. 
Many  a  worthy  youth  tells  us  he  almost  wishes  he  could  be 
lieve.  He  admires,  of  all  things,  the  "  moral  grandeur," 
the  "  ethical  beauty,"  of  many  parts  of  Christianity  ;  he  con 
descends  to  patronize  Jesus  Christ,  though  he  believes  that 
the  great  mass  of  words  and  actions,  by  which  alone  we 
know  any  thing  about  him,  ~re  sheer  fictions  or  legends  ;  he 
believes  —  gratuitously  enough  in  this  instance,  for  he  has 
no  ground  for  it  —  that  Jesus  Christ  was  a  very  "  great  man," 
worthy  of  comparison  at  least  with  Mahomet,  Luther,  Napo 
leon,  and  "  other  heroes  "  ;  he  even  admits  the  happiness  of 
a  simple,  childlike  faith  in  the  puerilities  of  Christianity, — 
it  produces  such  content  of  mind  !  But,  alas  !  he  cannot 
believe,  —  his  intellect  is  not  satisfied,  —  he  has  revolved 
the  matter  too  profoundly  to  be  thus  taken  in  ;  he  must,  he 
supposes,  (and  our  beardless  philosopher  sighs  as  he  says  it,) 
bear  the  penalty  of  a  too  restless  intellect,  and  a  too  specu 
lative  genius  ;  he  knows  all  the  usual  arguments  jvhich  sat 
isfied  Pascal,  Butler,  Bacon,  Leibnitz  ;  but  they  will  do  no 
longer  ;  more  radical,  more  tremendous  difficulties  have  sug 
gested  themselves,  "  from  the  depths  of  philosophy,"  and  far 
different  answers  are  required  now  !  * 


*  It  may  be  feared  that  many  young  minds  in  our  day  are  exposed 
to  the  danger  of  falling  into  one  or  other  of  the  prevailing  forms  of  un 
belief,  and  especially  into  that  of  pantheistic  mysticism,  from  rashly 
34 


398  REASON    AND    FAITH  ! 

This  is  easily  said,  and  we  know  is  often  said,  and  loudly. 
But  the  justice  with  which  it  is  said  is  another  matter  ;  for 

meditating  in  the  cloudy  regions  of  German  philosophy,  on  difficulties 
which  would  seem  beyond  the  limits  of  human  reason,  but  which  that 
philosophy  too  often  promises  to  solve,  —  with  what  success  we  may  see 
from  the  rapid  succession  and  impenetrable  obscurities  of  its  various 
systems.  Alas  !  when  will  men  learn  that  one  of  the  highest  achieve 
ments  of  philosophy  is  to  know  when  it  is  vain  to  philosophize !  When 
the  obscure  principles  of  these  most  uncouth  philosophies,  expressed, 
we  verily  believe,  in  the  darkest  language  ever  used  by  civilized  man, 
are  applied  to  the  solution  of  the  problems  of  theology  and  ethics,  no 
wonder  that  the  natural  consequence,  as  well  as  just  retribution,  of  such 
temerity  is  a  plunge  into  tenfold  night.  Systems  of  German  philosophy 
may  perhaps  be  advantageously  studied  by  those  who  are  mature 
enough  to  study  them ;  but  that  they  have  an  incomparable  power  of 
intoxicating  the  intellect  of  the  young  aspirant  to  their  mysteries  is,  we 
think,  undeniable.  They  are  producing  this  effect  just  now  in  a  multi 
tude  of  our  juveniles,  who  are  beclouding  themselves  in  the  vain  at 
tempt  to  comprehend  ill-translated  fragments  of  ill-understood  philoso 
phies,  (executed  in  a  sort  of  Anglicized-German,  or  Germanized-English, 
we  know  not  which  to  call  it,  but  certainly  neither  German  nor  Eng 
lish,)  from  the  perusal  of  which  they  carry  away  nothing  but  some  very 
obscure  terms,  on  which  they  themselves  have  superinduced  a  very 
vague  meaning.  These  terms  you  in  rain  implore  them  to  define  ;  or, 
if  they  define  them,  they  define  them  in  terms  which  as  much  need  defi 
nition.  Heartily  do  we  wish  that  Socrates  would  reappear  amongst  us, 
to  exercise  his  accoucheur's  art  on  these  hapless  Theastetuses  and  Me- 
nos  of  our  day  ! 

Many  such  youths  might,  no  doubt,  reply  at  first  to  the  sarcastic  que 
rist,  (who  might  gently  complain  of  a  slight  cloudiness  in  their  specula 
tions,)  that  the  truths  they  uttered  were  too  profound  for  ordinary  rea- 
soners.  We  may  easily  imagine  how  Socrates  would  have  dealt  with 
such  assumptions.  His  reply  would  be  rather  more  severe  than  that  of 
Mackintosh  to  Coleridge,  in  a  somewhat  similar  case  ;  namely,  that  if  a 
notion  cannot  be  made  clear  to  persons  who  have  spent  the  better  part 
of  their  days  in  revolving  the  difficulties  of  metaphysics  and  philosophy, 
and  who  are  conscious  that  they  are  not  destitute  of  patience  for  the 
effort  requisite  to  understand  them,  it  may  suggest  a  doubt  whether  the 
fault  be  not  in  the  medium  of  communication  rather  than  elsewhere ; 
and,  indeed,  whether  the  philosopher  be  not  aiming  to  communicate 
thoughts  on  subjects  on  which  man  can  have  no  thoughts  to  communi 
cate.  Socrates  would  add,  perhaps,  that  language  was  given  us  to  ex- 


THEIR    CLAIMS   AND    CONFLICTS.  399 

when  we  can  get  these  cloudy  objectors  to  put  down,  not 
their  vague  assertions  of  profound  difficulties,  uttered  in  the 

press,  not  to  conceal,  our  thoughts  ;  and  that,  if  they  cannot  be  commu 
nicated,  invaluable  as  they  doubtless  are,  we  had- better  keep  them  to 
ourselves  ;  one  thing  it  is  clear  he  would  do,  —  he  would  insist  on  pre 
cise  definitions.  But,  in  truth,  it  may  be  more  than  surmised  that  the 
obscurities  of  which  all  complain,  except  those  (and  in  our  day  they  are 
not  a  few)  to  whom  obscurity  is  a  recommendation,  results  from  suffer 
ing  the  intellect  to  speculate  in  realms  forbidden  to  its  access  ;  of  ven 
turing  into  caverns  of  tremendous  depth  and  darkness,  with  nothing  bet 
ter  than  our  own  rushlight.  Surely  we  have  reason  to  suspect  as  much 
when  some  learned  professor,  after  muttering  his  logical  incantations, 
and  conjuring  with  his  logical  formulas,  surprises  you  by  saying,  that  he 
has  disposed  of  the  great  mysteries  of  existence  and  the  universe,  and 
solved  to  your  entire  satisfaction,  in  his  own  curt  way,  the  problems  of 
the  ABSOLUTE  and  the  INFINITE  !  If  the  cardinal  truths  of  philosophy 
and  religion  hitherto  received  are  doomed  to  be  imperilled  by  such  spec 
ulations,  one  feels  strongly  inclined  to  pray  with  the  old  Homeric  hero, 

—  "  that,  if  they  must  perish,  it  may  be  at  least  in  daylight." 

We  earnestly  counsel  the  youthful  reader  to  defer  the  study  of  German 
philosophy,  —  at  least  till  he  has  matured  and  disciplined  his  mind,  and 
familiarized  himself  with  the  best  models  of  what  used  to  be  our  boast, 

—  English  clearness  of  thought  and  expression.    He  will  then  learn  to 
ask  rigidly  for  definitions,  and  not  rest  satisfied  with  half-meanings,  or 
no  meaning.     To  the  naturally  venturous  pertinacity  of  young  metaphy 
sicians,  few  would  be  disposed  to  be  more  indulgent  than  ourselves. 
From  the  time  of  Plato  downwards,  —  who  tells  us  that  no  sooner  do 
they  "  taste  "  of  dialectics  than  they  are  ready  to  dispute  with  every 
body,  "  sparing  neither  father  nor  mother,  scarcely  even  the  lower  ani 
mals,"  if  they  had  but  a  voice  to  reply, — they  have  always  expected 
more  from  metaphysics  than  (except  as  a  discipline)  they  will  ever  yield. 
He  elsewhere,  still  more  humorously,  describes  the  same  trait.    He  com 
pares  them  to  young  dogs,  who  are  perpetually  snapping  at  every  thing 
about  them  :  —  Oi/zeu  yap  tre  ov  \€\r)6fvai,  on  ol  p.eipaKL(TKOi,  orav  TO 
irp&Tov  \6ya>v  yev&vrai,  o>f  TratSia  avrois  Kara^paii'Tat,  del  els  di/riAo- 
yiav  xpd>p.evoi  KOL  fjup-ovpevoi  TOVS  e^f\ey^ovTas  avTol 

<rtj  \aipovT€S  axrTrep  o~KV\a,Kia  ra>  eA/eeii/  re  Kal  o~7rapa.TT€iv  TO 
o~iov  dei.  But  we  hope  we  shall  not  see  our  metaphysical  "  puppies  " 
amusing  themselves,  —  as  many  "  old  dogs  "  amongst  our  neighbors 
(who  ought  to  have  known  better)  have  done,  —  by  tearing  into  tatters 
the  sacred  leaves  of  that  volume,  which  contains  what  is  better  than  all 
their  philosophy. 


400  REASON    AND    FAITH  : 

obscure  language  they  love,  but  a  precise  statement  of  their 
objections,  we  find  them  either  the  very  same  with  those 
which  were  quite  as  powerfully  urged  in  the  course  of  the 
deistical  controversies  of  the  last  century  (the  case  with  far 
the  greater  part),  or  else  such  as  are  of  similar  character, 
and  susceptible  of  similar  answers.  We  say  not  that  the 
answers  were  always  satisfactory,  nor  are  now  inquiring 
whether  any  of  them  were  so  ;  we  merely  maintain  that  the 
objections  in  question  are  not  the  novelties  they  affect  to  be. 
It  is  necessary  to  remember  this,  in  order  to  obviate  an  ad 
vantage  which  the  very  vagueness  of  much  modern  opposi 
tion  to  Christianity  would  obtain,  from  the  notion  that  some 
prodigious  arguments  have  been  discovered,  which  the  intel 
lect  of  a  Pascal  or  a  Butler  was  not  comprehensive  enough 
to  anticipate,  and  which  no  Clarke  or  Paley  would  have  been 
logician  enough  to  refute.  We  affirm,  without  hesitation, 
that  when  the  new  advocates  of  infidelity  descend  from  their 
airy  elevation,  and  state  their  objections  in  intelligible  terms, 
they  are  found,  for  the  most,  what  we  have  represented  them. 
Indeed,  when  we  read  many  of  the  speculations  of  German 
infidelity,  we  seem  to  be  reperusing  many  of  our  own  au 
thors  of  the  last  century.  It  is  as  if  our  neighbors  had  im 
ported  our  manufactures  ;  and,  after  repacking  them,  in  novel 
forms  and  with  some  additions  of  their  own,  had  reshipped 
and  sent  them  back  to  us  as  new  commodities.  Hardly  an 
instance  of  discrepancy  is  mentioned  in  the  "  Wolfenbiittel 
Fragments,"  which  will  not  be  found  in  the  pages  of  our 
own  deists  a  century  ago ;  and  as  already  hinted,  the  vast 
majority  of  Dr.  Strauss's  elaborate  strictures  will  be  found  in 
the  same  sources.  In  fact,  though  far  from  thinking  it  to 
our  national  credit,  none  but  those  who  will  dive  a  little 
deeper  than  most  do  into  a  happily  forgotten  portion  of  our 
literature,  (which  made  noise  enough  in  its  day,  and  created 
very  superfluous  terrors  for  the  fate  of  Christianity,)  can  have 
any  idea  of  the  extent  to  which  the  modern  forms  of  un 
belief  in  Germany  —  so  far  as  founded  on  any  positive 


THEIR   CLAIMS    AND    CONFLICTS.  401 

grounds,  whether  of  reason  or  of  criticism  —  are  indebted 
to  our  English  deists.  Tholuck,  however,  and  others  of  his 
countrymen,  seem  thoroughly  aware  of  it. 

The  objections  to  the  truth  of  Christianity  are  directed 
either  against  the  evidence  itself,  or  that  which  it  substan 
tiates.  Against  the  latter,  as  Bishop  Butler  says,  unless  the 
objections  be  truly  such  as  prove  contradictions  in  it,  they  are 
"  perfectly  frivolous  "  ;  since  we  cannot  be  competent  judges 
either  as  to  all  which  it  may  be  worthy  of  the  Supreme  Mind 
to  reveal,*  or  how  far  a  portion  of  an  imperfectly  developed 
system  may  harmonize  with  the  whole  ;  and  perhaps  on  many 
points  we  never  can  be  competent  judges,  unless  we  can 
cease  to  be  finite.  The  objections  to  the  evidence  itself  are, 
as  the  same  great  author  observes,  "  well  worthy  of  the  full 
est  attention."  The  a  priori  objection  to  miracles  has  been 
already  briefly  touched.  If  that  objection  be  valid,  it  is  vain 
to  argue  further  ;  but  if  not,  the  remaining  objections  must  be 
powerful  enough  to  neutralize  the  entire  mass  of  the  evi 
dence,  and,  in  fact,  to  amount  to  a  proof  of  contradictions,  — 
not  on  this  or  that  minute  point  of  historical  detail,  —  but  on 
such  as  shake  the  foundations  of  the  whole  edifice  of  evi 
dence.  It  will  not  do  to  say,  "  Here  is  a  minute  discrepan 
cy  in  the  history  of  Matthew  or  Luke  as  compared  with  that 
of  Mark  or  John  "  ;  for, 

First,  such  discrepancies  are  often  found,  in  other  authors, 
to  be  apparent  and  not  real,  —  founded  on  our  taking  for 
granted  that  there  is  no  circumstance  unmentioned  by  two 
writers,  which,  if  known,  would  have  been  seen  to  harmonize 
their  statements.  This  possible  reconciliation  is  admitted 
readily  enough  in  the  case  of  many  seeming  discrepancies  of 
other  historians ;  but  it  is  a  benefit  which  men  are  slow  to 
extend  to  the  sacred  narratives.  There  the  objector  is  always 
apt  to  take  it  for  granted  that  the  discrepancy  is  real ;  though 
it  may  be  easy  to  suppose  a  case  (and  a  possible  case  is 

*  For  some  further  remarks  on  this  subject,  see  Appendix,  No.  II. 
34* 


402  REASON   AND   FAITH  : 

quite  sufficient  for  the  purpose)  which  would  neutralize  the 
objection.  Of  this  perverseness  (we  can  call  it  by  no  other 
name)  the  examples  are  perpetual  in  the  critical  tortures  to 
which  Strauss  has  subjected  the  sacred  historians.*  It  may 

*  The  reader  may  see  some  striking  instances  of  his  disposition  gra 
tuitously  to  take  the  worse  sense,  in  Beard's  "  Voices  of  the  Church." 
Tholuck  truly  observes,  too,  in  his  strictures  on  Strauss,  "  We  know  how 
frequently  the  loss  of  a  few  words  in  one  ancient  author  would  be  suffi 
cient  to  cast  an  inexplicable  obscurity  over  another."  The  same  writer 
well  observes,  that  there  never  was  an  historian  who,  if  treated  on  the 
principles  of  criticism  which  his  countryman  has  applied  to  the  Evange 
lists,  might  not  be  proved  a  mere  mythographer "  It  is  plain," 

says  he,  "that  if  absolute  agreement  among  historians"  —  and,  still 
more,  absolute  apparent  agreement  —  "  be  necessary  to  assure  us  that 
we  possess  in  their  writings  credible  history,  we  must  renounce  all  pre 
tence  to  any  such  possession."  The  translations  from  Quinet,  Coquerel, 
and  Tholuck  are  all,  in  different  ways,  well  worth  reading.  The  last  truly 
says :  "  Strauss  came  to  the  study  of  the  Evangelical  history  with  the 
foregone  conclusion  that  '  miracles  are  impossible ' ;  and  where  an  in 
vestigator  brings  with  him  an  absolute  conviction  of  the  guilt  of  the  ac 
cused  to  the  examination  of  his  case,  we  know  how  even  the  most  inno 
cent  may  be  implicated  and  condemned  out  of  his  own  mouth."  In  fact, 
so  strong  and  various  are  the  proofs  of  truth  and  reality  in  the  history  of 
the  New  Testament,  that  none  would  ever  have  suspected  the  veracity  of 
the  writers,  or  tried  to  disprove  it,  except  for  the  above  foregone  conclu 
sion,  —  "  that  miracles  are  impossible."  We  also  recommend  to  the 
reader  an  ingenious  brochure  included  in  the  "  Voices  of  the  Church,  in 
Reply  to  Strauss,"  constructed  on  the  same  principle  with  Whately's  ad 
mirable.  "Historic  Doubts";  namely,  "The  Fallacy  of  the  Mythical 
Theory  of  Dr.  Strauss,  illustrated  from  the  History  of  Martin  Luther 
and  from  actual  Mohammedan  Myths  of  the  Life  of  Jesus."  What  a 
subject  for  the  same  play  of  ingenuity  would  be  Dean  Swift!  The  date 
and  place  of  his  birth  disputed,  —  whether  he  was  an  Englishman  or  an 
Irishman,  —  his  incomprehensible  relations  to  Stella  and  Vanessa,  utterly 
incomprehensible  on  any  hypothesis,  —  his  alleged  seduction  of  one,  of 
both,  of  neither,  —  his  marriage  with  Stella  affirmed,  disputed,  and  still 
wholly  unsettled,  —  the  numberless  other  incidents  in  his  life  full  of  con 
tradiction  and  mystery,  —  and,  not  least,  the  eccentricities  and  inconsis 
tencies  of  his  whole  character  and  conduct!  Why,  with  a  thousandth 
part  of  Doctor  Strauss's  assumptions,  it  would  be  easy  to  reduce  Swift  to 
as  fabulous  a  personage  as  his  own  Lemuel  Gulliver.  (For  further  re 
marks,  see  Appendix,  No.  I.) 


THEIR   CLAIMS   AND   CONFLICTS.  403 

be  objected,  perhaps,  that  the  gratuitous  supposition  of  some 
unmentioned  fact  —  which,  if  mentioned,  would  harmonize 
the  apparently  counter-statements  of  two  historians  —  can 
not  be  admitted,  and  is,  in  fact,  a  surrender  of  the  argument. 
But  to  say  so,  is  only  to  betray  an  utter  ignorance  of  what  the 
argument  is.  If  an  objection  be  founded  on  the  alleged  ab 
solute  contradiction  of  two  statements,  it  is  quite  sufficient 
to  show  any  (not  the  real,  but  only  a  hypothetical  and  possi 
ble)  medium  of  reconciling  them  ;  and  the  objection  is  in  all 
fairness  dissolved  ;  and  this  would  'be  felt  by  the  honest  logi 
cian,  even  if  we  did  not  know  of  any  such  instances  in  point 
of  fact.  We  do  know,  however,  of  many.  Nothing  is  more 
common  than  to  find,  in  the  narration  of  two  perfectly*  hon 
est  historians,  —  referring  to  the  same  events  from  different 
points  of  view,  or  for  a  different  purpose,  —  the  omission  of 
a  fact  which  gives  a  seeming  contrariety  to  their  statements ; 
a  contrariety  which  the  mention  of  the  omitted  fact  by  a 
third  writer  instantly  clears  up.*  Very  forgetful  of  this  have 


*  Any  apparent  discrepancy  with  either  themselves  or  profane  historians 
is  usually  sufficient  to  satisfy  Dr.  Strauss.  He  is  ever  ready  to  conclude 
that  the  discrepancy  is  real,  and  that  the  profane  historians  are  right.  In 
adducing  some  striking  instances  of  the  minute  accuracy  of  Luke,  only 
revealed  by  obscure  collateral  evidence  (historic  or  numismatic)  discov 
ered  since,  Tholuck  remarks :  "  What  an  outcry  would  have  been  made, 
had  not  the  specious  appearance  of  error  been  thuso  bviated !  "  "  Luke 
calls  Gallio  proconsul  of  Achaia  :  we  should  not  have  expected  it,  since, 
though  Achaia  was  originally  a  senatorial  province,  Tiberius  had 
changed  it  into  an  imperial  one,  and  the  title  of  its  governor,  therefore, 
was  procurator ;  now  a  passage  in  Suetonius  informs  us  that  Claudius 
had  restored  the  province  to  the  Senate."  The  same  Evangelist  calls  Ser- 
gius  Paulus  governor  of  Cyprus  :  yet  we  might  have  expected  to  find 
only  a  praetor,  since  Cyprus  was  an  imperial  province.  In  this  case, 
again,  says  Tholuck,  the  correctness  of  the  historian  has  been  remarka 
bly  attested.  Coins,  and  later  still  a  passage  in  Dion  Cassius,  have  been 
found,  giving  proof  that  Augustusrestored  the  province  to  the  Senate ; 
and,  as  if  to  vindicate  the  Evangelist,  the  Roman  historian  adds :  "  Thus 
proconsuls  began  to  be  sent  into  that  island  also."  —  Trans,  from  Tho- 
luck,  pp.  21, 22.  In  the  same  manner  coins  have  been  found,  proving  he  is 


404  REASON   AND   FAITH  : 

the  advocates  of  infidelity  usually  been  :  nay,  (as  if  they 
would  make  up  in  the  number  of  objections  what  they  want 
in  weight,)  they  have  frequently  availed  themselves,  not  only 
of  apparent  contrarieties,  but  of  mere  incompleteness  in  the 
statements  of  two  different  writers,  on  which  to  found  a 
charge  of  contradiction.  Thus,  if  one  writer  says  that  a  cer 
tain  person  was  present  at  a  given  time  or  place,  when 
another  says  that  he  and  two  more  were  there  ;  or  that  one 
man  was  cured  of  blindness,  when  another  says  that  two 
were  cured,  —  such  a  thing  is  often  alleged  as  a  contradic 
tion  ;  whereas,  in  truth,  it  presents  not  even  a  difficulty,  — 
unless  one  historian  be  bound  to  say,  not  only  all  that  another 
says,  but  just  so  much,  and  no  more.  Let  such  objections  be 
what  they  will,  unless  they  prove  absolute  contradictions  in 
the  narrative,  they  are  as  mere  dust  in  the  balance,  compared 
with  the  stupendous  mass  and  variety  of  that  evidence  which 
confirms  the  substantial  truth  of  Christianity.  And  even  if 
they  establish  real  contradictions,  they  still  amount,  for  rea 
sons  we  are  about  to  state,  to  no  more  than  dust  in  the  bal 
ance,  unless  they  establish  contradictions,  not  in  immaterial, 
but  in  vital  points.  The  objections  must  be  such  as,  if 
proved,  leave  the  whole  fabric  of  evidence  in  ruins.  For, 

Secondly,  we  are  fully  disposed  to  concede  to  the  objector 
that  there  are,  in  the  books  of  Scripture,  not  only  apparent 
but  real  discrepancies,  —  a  point  which  many  of  the  advo 
cates  of  Christianity  are,  indeed,  reluctant  to  admit,  but 
which,  we  think,  no  candid  advocate  will  feel  to  be  the  less 
true.  Nevertheless,  even  such  an  advocate  of  the  Scriptures 
may  justly  contend  that  the  very  reasons  which  necessitate 
this  admission  of  discrepancies  also  reduce  them  to  snch  a 
limit  that  they  do  not  affect,  in  the  slightest  degree,  the  sub 
stantial  credibility  of  the  sacred  records  ;  and,  in  our  judg 
ment,  Christians  have  unwisely  damaged  their  cause,  and 

correct  in  some  other  once  disputed  instances.  Is  it  not  fair  to  suppose  that 
many  apparent  discrepancies  of  the  same  order  may  be  eventually  re 
moved  by  similar  evidence  ? 


THEIR    CLAIMS    AND    CONFLICTS.  405 

given  a  needless  advantage  to  the  infidel,  by  denying  that 
any  discrepancies  exist,  or  by  endeavoring  to  prove  that  they 
do  not.  The  discrepancies  to  which  we  refer  are  just  those 
which,  in  the  course  of  the  transmission  of  ancient  books, 
divine  or  human,  through  many  ages,  —  their  constant  tran 
scription  by  different  hands,  —  their  translation  into  various 
languages,  —  may  not  only  be  expected  to  occur,  but  which 
must  occur,  unless  there  be  a  perpetual  series  of  most  minute 
and  ludicrous  miracles,  —  certainly  never  promised,  and  as 
certainly  never  performed,  —  to  counteract  all  the  effects  of 
negligence  and  inadvertence,  to  guide  the  pen  of  every 
transcriber  to  infallible  accuracy,  and  to  prevent  his  ever 
deviating  into  any  casual  error !  Such  miraculous  interven 
tion,  we  need  not  say,  has  never  been  pleaded  for  by  any 
apologist  of  Christianity  ;  has  certainly  never  been  promised ; 
and  if  it  had,  —  since  we  see,  as  a  matter  of  fact ,  that  the 
promise  has  never  been  fulfilled,  —  the  whole  of  Christianity 
would  fall  to  the  ground.  But  then,  from  a  large  induction, 
we  know  that  the  limits  within  which  discrepancies  and  er 
rors  from  such  causes  will  occur,  must  be  very  moderate  ; 
we  know,  from  numberless  examples  of  other  writings,  what 
the  maximum  is,  —  and  that  it  leaves  their  substantial  authen 
ticity  untouched  and  unimpeached.  No  one  supposes  the 
writings  of  Plato  and  Cicero,  of  Thucydides  and  Tacitus,  of 
Bacon  or  Shakspeare,  fundamentally  vitiated  by  the  like  dis 
crepancies,  errors,  and  absurdities,  which  time  and  inadver 
tence  have  occasioned. 

The  corruptions  in  the  Scriptures,  from  these  causes,  are 
likely  to  be  even  less  than  in  the  case  of  any  other  writings  ; 
from  their  very  structure,  —  the  varied  and  reiterated  forms 
in  which  all  the  great  truths  are  expressed ;  from  the  greater 
veneration  they  inspired ;  the  greater  care  with  which  they 
would  be  transcribed  ;  the  greater  number  of  copies  which 
would  be  diffused  through  the  world,  —  and  which,  though 
that  very  circumstance  would  multiply  the  number  of  varia 
tions,  would  also  afford,  in  their  collation,  the  means  of  re- 


406  REASON    AND    FAITH  : 

ciprocal  correction  ;  —  a  correction  which  we  have  seen  ap 
plied,  in  our  day,  with  admirable  success,  to  so  many  ancient 
writers,  under  a  system  of  canons  which  have  now  raised  this 
species  of  criticism  to  the  rank  of  an  inductive  science.  This 
criticism,  applied  to  the  Scriptures,  has,  in  many  instances, 
restored  the  true  reading,  and  dissolved  the  objections  which 
might  have  been  founded  on  the  uncorrected  variations  ;  and, 
as  time  rolls  on,  may  lead,  by  yet  fresh  discoveries  and  more 
comprehensive  recensions,  to  a  further  clarifying  of  the  stream 
of  Divine  truth,  till  "  the  river  of  the  water  of  life  "  shall  flow 
nearly  in  its  original  limpid  purity.  Within  such  limits  as 
these,  the  most  consistent  advocate  of  Christianity  not  only 
must  admit  —  not  only  may  safely  admit  —  the  existence  of 
discrepancies,  but  may  do  so  even  with  advantage  to  his 
cause.  He  must  admit  them,  since  such  variations  must  be 
the  result  of  the  manner  in  which  the  records  have  been  trans 
mitted,  unless  we  suppose  a  supernatural  intervention,  neither 
promised  by  God,  nor  pleaded  for  by  man  :  he  may  safely 
admit  them,  because  —  from  a  general  induction  from  the 
history  of  all  literature  —  we  see  that,  where  copies  of  writ 
ings  have  been  sufficiently  multiplied,  and  sufficient  motives 
for  care  have  existed  in  the  transcription,  the  limits  of  error 
are  very  narrow,  and  leave  the  substantial  identity  untouched  : 
and  he  may  admit  them  with  advantage ;  for  the  admis 
sion  is  a  reply  to  many  objections  founded  on  the  assumption 
that  he  must  contend  that  there  are  no  variations,  when  he 
need  only  contend  that  there  are  none  that  can  be  material. 

But  it  may  be  said,  "  May  not  we  be  permitted,  while  con 
ceding  the  miraculous  and  other  evidences  of  Christianity, 
and  the  general  authority  of  the  records  which  contain  it,  to 
go  a  step  further,  and  to  reject  some  things  which  seem  pal 
pably  ill-reasoned,  distasteful,  inconsistent,  or  immoral  ? " 
"  Let  every  man  be  fully  persuaded  in  his  own  mind."  For 
ourselves,  we  honestly  confess  we  cannot  see  the  logical  con 
sistency  of  such  a  position ;  any  more  than  the  reasonable 
ness,  after  having  admitted  the  preponderant  evidence  for 


THEIR   CLAIMS  AND   CONFLICTS.  407 

the  great  truth  of  theism,  of  excepting  some  phenomena  as 
apparently  at  variance  with  the  Divine  perfections  ;  and  thus 
virtually  adopting  a  Manicha3an  hypothesis.*  We  must  rec 
ollect  that  we  know  nothing  of  Christianity  except  from  its 
records  ;  and  as  these,  once  fairly  ascertained  to  be  authentic 
and  genuine,  are  all,  as  regards  their  contents,  supported  pre 
cisely  by  the  same  miraculous  and  other  external  evidence 
which  sustains  any  part  of  them ;  as  they  bear  upon  them 
precisely  the^same  internal  marks  of  artlessness,  truth,  and 
sincerity,  and,  historically  and  in  other  respects,  are  inextri 
cably  interwoven  with  one  another  ;  we  see  not  on  what  prin 
ciples  we  can  safely  reject  portions  as  improbable,  distasteful, 
not  quadrating  with  the  dictates  of  "  reason,"  our  "  intuitional 
consciousness,"  and  what  not.  This  assumed  liberty,  how 
ever,  is,  as  we  apprehend,  of  the  very  essence  of  Rationalism  ; 
and  it  may  be  called  the  Manichseism  of  interpretation.  So 
long  as  the  canonicity  of  any  of  the  records,  or  any  portion 
of  them,  or  their  true  interpretation,  is  in  dispute,  we  may 
fairly  doubt ;  but  that  point  once  decided  by  honest  criticism, 
to  say  we  receive  such  and  such  portions  on  account  of  the 
weight  of  the  general  evidence,  and  yet  reject  other  portions, 
though  sustained  by  the  same  evidence,  because  we  think 
there  is  something  unreasonable  or  revolting  in  their  sub 
stance,  is  plainly  to  accept  evidence  only  where  it  pleases  us, 
and  to  reject  it  where  it  pleases  us  not.  The  only  question 
fairly  at  issue  must  ever  be,  whether  the  general  evidence  for 
Christianity  will  overbear  the  difficulties  which  we  cannot  sep 
arate  from  the  truths.  If  it  will  not,  we  must  reject  it  whol 
ly  ;  and  if  it  will,  we  must  receive  it  wholly.  There  is  plainly 
no  tenable  position  between  absolute  infidelity  and  absolute 
belief.  And  this  is  proved  by  the  infinitely  various  and  Pro 
tean  character  of  Rationalism,  and  the  perfectly  undetermi- 


*  For  further  remarks  on  this  very  interesting  subject,  suggested 
by  a  conversation  with  one  of  the  most  powerful  as  well  as  brilliant  minds 
of  this  or  of  any  age,  see  Appendix,  No.  III. 


408 


REASON   AND   FAITH  I 


nate,  but  always  arbitrary,  limits  it  imposes  on  itself.  It  exists 
in  all  forms  and  degrees,  from  a  moderation  which  accepts 
nearly  the  entire  system  of  Christianity,  and  which  certainly 
rejects  nothing  that  can  be  said  to  constitute  its  distinctive 
truth,  to  an  audacity  of  unbelief,  which,  professing  still 
vaguely  to  reverence  Christianity  as  "  something  divine," 
sponges  out  nine  tenths  of  the  whole  ;  or,  after  reducing  the 
mass  of  it  to  a  caput  mortuum  of  lies,  fiction,  and  supersti 
tions,  retains  only  a  few  drops  of  fact  and  doctrine,  —  so  few 
as  certainly  not  to  pay  for  the  expenses  of  the  critical  dis 
tillation.* 

Nor  will  the  theory  of  what  some  call  the  "  intuitional  con 
sciousness  "  avail  us  here.  It  is  true,  as  they  assert,  that  the 
constitution  of  human  nature  is  such,  that,  before  its  actual  de 
velopment,  it  has  a  capacity  of  developing  to  certain  effects 

*  It  may  be  as  well  to  remark,  that  we  have  frequently  observed  a  dispo 
sition  to  represent  the  very  general  abandonment  of  the  theory  of  "  verbal 
inspiration  "  as  a  concession  to  Rationalism  ;  as  if  it  necessarily  followed 
from  admitting  that  inspiration  is  not  verbal,  that,  therefore  an  indeter 
minate  portion  of  the  substance  or  doctrine  is  purely  human.  It  is  plain, 
however,  that  this  is  no  necessary  consequence  :  an  advocate  of  plenary 
inspiration  may  contend,  that,  though  he  does  not  believe  that  the  very 
words  of  Scripture  were  dictated,  yet  that  the  thoughts  were  either  so 
suggested  (if  the  matter  was  such  as  could  be  known  only  by  revelation), 
or  so  controlled  (if  the  matter  were  such  as  was  previously  known),  that 
(excluding  errors  introduced  into  the  text  since)  the  Scriptures  as  first 
composed  were  — what  no  book  of  man  ever  was,  or  can  be,  even  in  the 
plainest  narrative  of  the  simplest  events  —  a  perfectly  accurate  expres 
sion  of  truth.  We  enter  not  here,  however,  into  the  question,  whether 
such  a  view  of  inspiration  is  better  or  worse  than  another.  The  simple 
object  has  been  to  correct  a  fallacy  which,  judging  from  what  we  have  re 
cently  read,  has  operated  rather  extensively.  Inspiration  may  be  verbal, 
or  the  contrary ;  but,  whether  one  or  the  other,  he  who  takes  the  affir 
mative  or  negative  of  that  question  may  still  consistently  contend  that  it 
may  be  plenary.  The  question  of  the  inspiration  of  the  whole,  or  the  in 
spiration  of  a  part,  is  widely  different  from  that  as  to  the  suggestion  of 
the  words,  or  the  suggestion  of  the  thoughts.  But  these  questions  we 
leave  to  professed  theologians.  We  merely  enter  our  protest  against  a 
prevailing  fallacy. 


THEIR   CLAIMS   AND  CONFLICTS.  409 

only,  — just  as  the  flower  in  the  germ,  as  it  expands  to  the 
sun,  will  have  certain  colors  and  a  certain  fragrance,  and  no 
other  ;  —  all  which,  indeed,  though  not  very  new  or  profound, 
is  very  important.  But  it  is  not  so  clear  that  it  will  give  us 
any  help  on  the  present  occasion.  We  have  an  original  sus 
ceptibility  of  music,  of  beauty,  of  religion,  it  is  said.  Grant 
ed  ;  but  as  the  actual  development  of  this  susceptibility  ex 
hibits  all  the  diversities  between  Handel's  notions  of  harmony 
and  those  of  an  American  Indian,  —  between  Raphael's  no 
tions  of  beauty  and  those  of  a  Hottentot,  —  between  St.  Paul's 
notions  of  a  God  and  those  of  a  New  Zealander,  —  it  would 
appear  that  the  education  of  this  susceptibility  is  at  least 
as  important  as  the  susceptibility  itself,  if  not  more  so ; 
for  without  the  susceptibility  itself,  we  should  simply  have 
no  notion  of  music,  beauty,  or  religion  ;  and  between  such 
negation  and  that  notion  of  all  these  which  New  Zealand- 
ers  and  Hottentots  possess,  not  a  few  of  our  species  would 
probably  prefer  the  former.  It  is  in  vain,  then,  to  tell  us  to 
look  into  the  "  depths  of  our  own  nature,"  (as  some  vaguely 
say,)  and  to  judge  thence  what  in  a  professed  revelation  from 
heaven  is  suitable  to  us,  or  worthy  of  our  acceptance  and  re 
jection  respectively.  This  criterion  is,  as  we  see  by  the 
utterly  different  judgments  formed  by  different  classes  of 
Rationalists,  as  to  the  how  much  they  shall  receive  of  the  rev 
elation  they  may  generally  admit,  a  very  shifting  one,  —  a 
measure  which  has  no  linear  unit ;  it  is  to  employ,  as  mathe 
maticians  say,  a  variable  as  if  it  were  a  constant  quantity  ; 
or  rather,  it  is  to  attempt  to  find  the  value  of  an  unknown 
quantity  by  another  equally  unknown. 

It  may  be  contended,  then,  that  the  principle  of  Rational 
ism  is  logically  untenable  ;  and  that  for  many  reasons  :  not 
merely  or  principally  on  account  of  the  absurdity  it  involves, 
—  that  God  has  expressly  supplemented  human  reason  by  a 
revelation  containing  an  indeterminate  but  large  portion  of 
falsities,  errors,  and  absurdities,  and  which  we  are  to  commit 
to  our  little  alembic,  and  distil  as  we  may  ;  not  only  on  ac- 
35 


410  REASON   AND   FAITH: 

count  of  the  paradox  it  imposes,  that  God  has  demanded  our 
faith,  for  statements  which  are  to  be  received  only  as  they 
appear  perfectly  comprehensible  by  our  reason  ;  or,  in  other 
words,  only  for  what  it  is  impossible  that  we  should  doubt  or 
deny  ;  not  merely  because  the  principle  inevitably  leaves 
man  to  construct  the  so-called  revelation  entirely  for  himself; 
so  that  what  one  man  receives  as  a  genuine  communication 
from  heaven,  another,  from  having  a  different  development 
of  "  his  intuitional  consciousness,"  rejects  as  an  absurdity  too 
gross  for  human  belief;  —  not  wholly,  we  say,  nor  even 
principally,  for  these  reasons  ;  but  for  the  still  stronger  reason 
that  such  a  principle  involves  in  its  application  an  egregious 
trifling  with  that  great  complex  mass  of  evidence,  which,  as 
we  have  said,  applies  to  the  whole  of  Christianity,  or  to  none 
of  it.  As  if  to  baffle  the  efforts  of  man  consistently  to  disen 
gage  these  elements  of  our  belief,  the  whole  are  inextricably 
blended  together.  The  supernatural  element,  especially,  is 
so  diffused,  through  all  the  records,  that  it  is  more  and  more 
felt,  at  every  step,  to  be  impossible  to  obliterate  it,  without 
obliterating  the  entire  system  in  which  it  circulates.  The 
stain,  if  stain  it  be,  is  far  too  deep  for  any  scouring  fluids  of 
Rationalism  to  wash  it  out,  without  destroying  the  whole  tex 
ture  of  our  creed  ;  and,  in  our  judgment,  the  only  consistent 
Rationalism  is  the  Rationalism  which  rejects  it  all. 

At  whatever  point  the  Rationalist  may  take  his  stand,  we 
do  not  think  it  difficult  to  prove  that  his  conduct  is  eminently 
irrational.  If,  for  example,  he  be  one  of  those  moderate 
Rationalists  who  admit  (as  thousands  do)  the  miraculous  and 
other  evidence  of  the  supernatural  origin  of  the  Gospel,  and 
therefore  also  admit  such  and  such  doctrines  to  be  true, — 
what  can  he  reply,  if  further  asked  what  reason  he  can  have 
for  accepting  these  truths,  and  rejecting  others  which  are  sup 
ported  by  the  very  same  evidence  ?  How  can  he  be  sure 
that  the  truths  he  receives  are  established  by  evidence  which, 
to  all  appearance,  equally  authenticates  the  falsehoods  he 
rejects  ?  Surely,  as  already  said,  this  is  to  reject  and  accept 


THEIR   CLAIMS   AND    CONFLICTS.  411 

evidence  as  he  pleases.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  he  says  that 
he  receives  the  miracles  only  to  authenticate  what  he  knows 
very  well  without  them,  and  believes  true*  on  the  information 
of  reason  alone,  why  trouble  miracles  and  revelation  at  all  ? 
Is  not  this,  according  to  the  old  proverb,  to  "  take  a  hatchet 
to  break  an  egg  "  ?  * 

Nor  can  we  disguise  from  ourselves,  indeed,  that  consisten 
cy  in  the  application  of  the  essential  principle  of  Rationalism 
would  compel  us  to  go  a  few  steps  further.  As  Bishop  But 
ler  has  shown,  no  greater  difficulties  (if  so  great)  attach  to 
the  page  of  Revelation  than  to  the  volume  of  Nature  itself. 
What,  for  example,  can  be  greater  than  those  which  are  in 
volved  in  that  dread  enigma,  "the  origin  of  evil,"  compared 
with  which  all  other  enigmas  are  trifles,  —  that  abyss  into 
which  so  many  of  the  difficulties  of  all  theology,  natural  and 
revealed,  at  least  disembogue  themselves  ?  We  feel,  there 
fore,  that  the  admission  of  the  principle  of  Rationalism  would 
ultimately  drive  us,  not  only  to  reject  Christianity,  but  to  re 
ject  Theism  in  all  its  forms,  whether  Monotheism,  or  Panthe 
ism,  and  even  positive  or  dogmatic  Atheism  itself.  Nor  could 
we  stop,  indeed,  till  we  had  arrived  at  that  absolute  pyrrhonism 
which  consists,  if  such  a  thing  be  possible,  in  the  negation 
of  all  belief,  —  even  to  the  belief  that  we  do  not  believe  ! 

But  though  the  objections  to  the  reception  of  Christianity 
are  numerous,  and  some  insoluble,  the  question  always  re 
turns,  whether  they  overbalance  the  mass  of  the  evidence 
in  its  favor.  Nor  is  it  to  be  forgotten  that  they  are  suscepti- 


*  If  such  a  man  says  that  he  rejects  certain  doctrines,  not  on  rational 
istic  grounds,  but  because  he  denies  the  canonical  authority  or  the  in 
terpretation  of  portions  of  the  records  in  which  they  are  found,  and  is 
willing  to  abide  by  the  issue  of  the  evidence  on  those  points,  —  evidence 
with  which  the  human  mind  is  quite  competent  to  deal,  —  we  answer, 
that  he  is  not  the  man  with  whom  we  are  now  arguing.  The  points  in 
dispute  will  be  ultimately  determined  by  the  honest  use  of  history,  crit 
icism,  and  philology.  But  between  such  a  man  and  one  who  rejects 
Christianity  altogether,  we  can  imagine  no  consistent  position. 


412  REASON   AND   FAITH  I 

-». 

ble  of  indefinite  alleviation  as  time  rolls  on  ;  and  with  a  few 
observations  on  this  point  we  will  close  the  present  discussion. 
A  refinement  of  modern  philosophy  often  leads  our  ration 
alist  to  speak  depreciatingly,  if  not  contemptuously,  of  what 
he  calls  a  stereotyped  revelation,  —  revelation  in  a  "  book." 
It  ties  down,  he  is  fond  of  saying,  the  spirit  to  the  letter ;  and 
limits  the  "  progress "  and  "  development "  of  the  human 
mind  in  its  "  free  "  pursuit  of  truth.  The  answer  we  should 
be  disposed  to  make  is,  first,  that  if  a  book  does  contain  truth, 
the  sooner  that  truth  is  stereotyped  the  better ;  secondly,  that 
if  such  book,  like  the  book  of  Nature,  or,  as  we  deem,  the 
book  of  Revelation,  really  contains  truth,  its  study,  so  far 
from  being  incompatible  with  the  spirit  of  free  inquiry,  will 
invite  and  repay  continual  efforts  more  completely  to  under 
stand  it.  Though  the  great  and  fundamental  truths  contained 
in  either  volume  will  be  obvious  in  proportion  to  their  impor 
tance  and  necessity,  there  is  no  limit  which  can  be  prescribed 
to  the  degree  of  accuracy  with  which  the  truth  they  severally 
contain  may  be  deciphered,  stated,  adjusted,  —  or  even  to  the 
period  in  which  fragments  of  new  truth  shall  continue  to  be 
elicited.  It  is  true,  indeed,  that  theology  cannot  be  said  to 
admit  of  unlimited  progress,  in  the  same  sense  as  chemistry, 
—  which  may,  for  aught  we  know,  treble  or  quadruple  its 
present  accumulations,  vast  as  they  are,  both  in  bulk  and 
importance.  But  even  in  theology,  as  deduced  from  the 
Scripture,  minute  fragments  of  new  truth,  or  more  exact  ad 
justments  of  old  truth,  may  be  perpetually  expected.  Lastly, 
we  shall  reply,  that  the  objection  to  a  revelation's  being  con 
fined  to  a  "  look  "  is  singularly  inapposite,  considering  that, 
by  the  constitution  of  the  world  and  of  human  nature,  man, 
without  books,  —  without  the  power  of  recording,  transmitting, 
and  perpetuating  thought,  of  rendering  it  permanent  and  dif 
fusive, —  ever  is,  ever  has  been,  and  ever  must  be  little  bet 
ter  than  a  savage  ;  and  therefore,  if  there  was  to  be  a  revela 
tion  at  all,  it  might  fairly  be  expected  that  it  would  be  com 
municated  in  this  form  ;  thus  affording  us  one  more  analogy, 


THEIR    CLAIMS    AND    CONFLICTS.  413 

in  addition  to  the  many  which  Butler  has  stated,  and  which 
may  in  time  be  multiplied  without  end,  between  "  Revealed 
Religion  and  the  Constitution  and  Course  of  Nature." 

And  this  leads  us  to  notice  a  saying  of  that  comprehensive 
genius,  which  we  do  not  recollect  having  seen  quoted  in  con 
nection  with  recent  controversies,  but  which  is  well  worthy  of 
being  borne  in  mind,  as  teaching  us  to  beware  of  hastily 
assuming  that  objections  to  Revelation,  whether  suggested  by 
the  progress  of  science,  or  by  the  supposed  incongruity  of 
its  own  contents,  are  unanswerable.  We  are  not,  he  says, 
rashly  to  suppose  that  we  have  arrived  at  the  true  meaning 
of  the  whole  of  that  book.  "  It  is  not  at  all  incredible  that  a 
book,  which  has  been  so  long  in  the  possession  of  mankind, 
should  contain  many  truths  as  yet  undiscerned.  For  all  the 
same  phenomena  and  the  same  faculties  of  investigation,  from 
which  such  great  discoveries  in  natural  knowledge  have  been 
made  in  the  present  and  last  age,  were  equally  in  the  posses 
sion  of  mankind  several  thousand  years  before."  These, 
words  are  worthy  of  Butler ;  and,  as  many  illustrations  of 
their  truth  have  been  supplied  since  his  day,  so  many  others 
may  fairly  be  anticipated  in  the  course  of  time.  Several  dis 
tinct  species  of  argument  for  the  truth  of  Christianity,  from 
the  very  structure  and  contents  of  the  books  containing  it, 
have  been  invented,  —  of  which  Paley's  "Horse  Paulinse  " 
is  a  memorable  example.  The  diligent  collation  of  the  text, 
too,  has  removed  many  difficulties ;  the  diligent  study  of  the 
original  languages,  of  ancient  history,  manners,  and  customs, 
has  cleared  up  many  more ;  and  by  supplying  proofs  of  ac 
curacy,  where  error  or  falsehood  had  been  charged,  has  sup 
plied  important  additions  to  the  evidence  which  substantiates 
the  truth  of  Revelation.  Against  the  alleged  absurdity  of 
the  Laws  of  Moses,  again,  such  works  as  that  of  Michaelis 
have  disclosed  much  of  that  relative  wisdom  which  aims  not 
at  the  abstractedly  best,  but  the  best  which  a  given  condition 
of  humanity,  a  given  period  of  the  world's  history,  and  a 
given  purpose  could  dictate.  In  pondering  such  difficulties 
35* 


414  REASON   AND   FAITH  I 

as  still  remain  in  those  laws,  we  may  remember  the  answer 
of  Solon  to  the  question,  whether  he  had  given  the  Athenians 
the  lest  laws;  he  said,  No:  but  that  he  had  given  them  the 
best  of  which  they  were  capable  ;  —  or  the  judgment  of  the 
illustrious  Montesquieu,  who  remarks,  "  When  Divine  Wis 
dom  said  to  the  Jews,  '  I  have  given  you  precepts  which  are 
not  good,'  this  signifies  that  they  had  only  a  relative  good 
ness  ;  and  this  is  the  sponge  which  wipes  out  all  the  difficul 
ties  which  are  to  be  found  in  the  Laws  of  Moses."  This  is 
a  truth  which  we  are  persuaded  a  profound  philosophy  will 
understand  the  better,  the  more  deeply  it  is  revolved  ;  and 
only  those  legislative  pedants  will  refuse  weight  to  it,  who 
would  venturously  propose  to  give  New  Zealanders  and  Hot 
tentots,  in  the  starkness  of  their  savage  ignorance,  the  com 
plex  forms  of  the  British  constitution. 

In  a  similar  manner  have  many  of  the  old  objections  of 
our  deistical  writers  ceased  to  be  heard  in  our  day,  unless  it 
J^e  from  the  lips  of  the  veriest  sciolism  ;  the  objections,  for 
instance,  of  that  truly  pedantic  philosophy  which  once  argued 
that  ethical  and  religious  truth  is  not  given  in  the  Scripture  in 
a  system  such  as  a  schoolman  might  have  digested  it  into ; 
as  if  the  brief  iteration  and  varied  illustration  of  pregnant 
truth,  intermingled  with  narrative,  parable,  and  example, 
were  not  infinitely  better  adapted  to  the  condition  of  the  hu 
man  intellect  in  general  !  For  similar  reasons,  the  old  ob 
jection,  that  statements  of  Christian  morality  are  given  with 
out  the  requisite  limitations,  and  cannot  be  literally  acted 
upon,  has  been  long  since  abandoned  as  an  absurdity.  It  is 
granted  that  a  hundred  folios  could  not  contain  the  hundredth 
part  of  all  the  limitations  of  human  actions,  and  all  the  pos 
sible  cases  of  a  contentious  casuistry ;  and  it  is  also  granted 
that  human  nature  is  not  so  inept  as  to  be  incapame  of  inter 
preting  and  limiting  for  itself  such  rules  as  "  Whatsoever  ye 
would  that  men  should  do  to  you,  do  ye  even  so  to  them." 

Not  less  strikingly  have  many  of  the  objections  suggested 
at  different  periods  by  the  progress  of  science  been  dis- 


THEIR   CLAIMS   AND   CONFLICTS.  415 

solved  ;  and,  amongst  the  rest,  those  alleged  from  the  remote 
historic  antiquity  of  certain  nations ;  objections  on  which  in 
fidels,  like  Volney  and  Voltaire,  once  so  confidently  relied. 
And  it  is  worthy  of  remark,  that  some  of  the  old  objections 
of  philosophers  have  disappeared  by  the  aid  of  that  very  sci 
ence,  —  geology,  —  which  has  led,  as  every  new  branch  of 
science  probably  will,  to  new  ones.  Geology,  indeed,  in  our 
judgment,  has  already  done  at  least  as  much  to  remove  diffi 
culties  as  to  occasion  them  ;  and  it  is  not  illogical,  or  unfair,  to 
surmise  that,  if  we  will  only  have  patience,  its  own  difficulties, 
as  those  of  so  many  other  branches  of  science,  will  be  eventu 
ally  solved.  One  thing  is  clear,  that,  if  the  Bible  be  true,  and 
geology  be  true,  that  cannot  be  geologically  true  which  is  Scrip- 
turally  false,  or  vice  versa;  and  we  may  therefore  laugh  at  the 
polite  compromise  which  is  sometimes  affected  by  learned  pro-; 
fessors  of  theology  and  geology  respectively ;  who  are  apt, 
in  extravagant  complaisance  to  one  another,  to  express  them 
selves  not  simply  to  the  effect  that  truth  may  be  established 
by  different  species  of  evidence,  but  as  if  different  species  of 
evidence  could  establish  contrary  truths.  All  that  is  de 
manded  of  either  —  all  that  is  needed  —  is  that  they  refrain 
from  a  too  hasty  conclusion  of  absolute  contradictions  between 
their  respective  sciences,  and  retain  a  quiet  remembrance  of 
the  imperfection  of  our  present  knowledge  both  of  geology 
and,  as  Butler  says,  of  the  Bible.  The  recent  interpretation 
of  the  commencement  of  Genesis  —  by  which  the  first 
verse  is  simply  supposed  to  affirm  the  original  creation  of  all 
things,  while  the  second  immediately  refers  to  the  commence 
ment  of  the  human  economy  —  was  first  suggested  by  geolo 
gy,  though  suspected,  and  indeed  adopted,  by  some  of  the 
early  Fathers.  On  this  interpretation,  those  prodigious  cy 
cles  which  geology  demands  are,  not  denied,  but  simply 
passed  by,  with  a  silence  worthy  of  a  true  revelation,  which 
does  not  pretend  to  gratify  our  curiosity  as  to  the  preadamitic 
condition  of  our  globe,  any  more  than  our  curiosity  as  to  the 
history  of  other  worlds.  But  though,  at  first  sight,  this  inter- 


416  REASON    AND    FAITH: 

pretation  appeared  to  many,  from  old  association,  inadmis 
sible,  it  is  now  felt  by  multitudes  to  be  the  more  reasonable 
interpretation,  —  the  second  verse  certainly  more  naturally 
suggesting  previous  revolutions  in  the  history  of  the  earth, 
than  its  then  instant  creation  :  and  though  we  frankly  con 
cede  that  we  have  not  yet  seen  any  account  of  the  whole  first 
chapter  of  Genesis  which  quadrates  with  the  doctrines  of  ge 
ology,  it  does  not  become  us  hastily  to  conclude  that  there 
can  be  none.  If  a  further  adjustment  of  those  doctrines,  and 
a  more  diligent  investigation  of  the  Scripture,  together, 
should  hereafter  suggest  any  possible  harmony,  —  though  not 
the  true  one,  but  one  ever  so  gratuitously  assumed,  —  it  will 
be  sufficient  to  neutralize  the  objection.  This,  it  will  be  ob 
served,  is  in  accordance  with  what  has  been  already  shown, 
—  that,  wherever  an  objection  is  founded  on  an  apparent  con 
tradiction  between  two  statements,  it  is  sufficient  to  show  any 
possible  way  in  which  the  statements  may  be  reconciled, 
whether  the  true  one  or  not.  The  objection,  in  that  case,  to 
the  supposition  that  the  facts  are  gratuitously  assumed,  though 
often  urged,  is,  in  reality,  nothing  to  the  purpose.*  If  ever 
it  should  be  shown,  for  example,  that,  supposing  as  many  ge 
ological  eras  as  the  philosopher  requires  to  have  passed  in 
the  chasm  between  the  first  verse,  which  asserts  the  original 
dependence  of  all  things  on  the  fiat  of  the  Creator,  and  the 
second,  which  is  supposed  to  commence  the  human  era,  any 
imaginable  condition  of  our  system  —  at  the  close,  so  to 
speak,  of  a  given  geological  period  —  would  harmonize  with 
a  fair  interpretation  of  the  first  chapter  of  Genesis,  the  objec 
tion  will  be  neutralized. 

We  have  little  doubt,  in  our  own  minds,  that  the  ultimately 

*  Some  admirable  remarks  in  relation  to  the  answers  we  are  bound  to 
give  to  objections  to  revealed  religion,  have  been  made  by  Leibnitz  (in 
reply  to  Bayle)  in  the  little  tract  prefixed  to  his  Theodicee,  entitled 
<l  De  la  Conformite  de  la  Foi  avec  la  Raison."  He  there  shows  that  the 
utmost  that  can  fairly  be  asked  is  to  prove  that  the  affirmed  truths  in 
volve  no  necessarv  contradiction. 


THEIR    CLAIMS   AND   CONFLICTS  417 

converging,  though,  it  may  be,  transiently  discrepant  conclu 
sions  of  the  sciences  of  philology,  ethnology,  and  geology 
(in  all  of  which,  we  may  rest  assured,  great  discoveries  are 
yet  to  be  made)  will  tend  to  harmonize  with  the  ultimate  re 
sults  of  a  more  thorough  study  of  the  records  of  the  race  as 
contained  in  the  book  of  Revelation.  Let  us  be  permitted  to 
imagine  one  example  of  such  possible  harmony.  We  think 
that  the  philologist  may  engage  to  make  out,  on  the  strictest 
principles  of  induction,  from  the  tenacity  with  which  all 
communities  cling  to  their  language,  and  the  slow  observed 
rate  of  change  by  which  they  alter, —  by  which  Anglo-Saxon, 
for  example,  has  been  transformed  into  English,*  Latin  into 
Italian,  and  ancient  Greek  into  modern  (though  these  lan 
guages  have  been  affected  by  every  conceivable  cause  of  va 
riation  and  depravation), —  that  it  would  require  hundreds  of 
thousands,  nay,  millions,  of  years  to  account  for  the  produc 
tion,  by  known  natural  causes,  of  the  vast  multitude  of  totally 
distinct  languages,  and  tens  of  thousands  of  dialects,  which 
man  now  utters.  On  the  other  hand,  the  geologist  is  more 
and  more  persuaded  of  the  comparatively  recent  origin  of  the 
human  race.  What,  then,  is  to  harmonize  these  conflicting 
statements?  Will  it  not  be  curious,  if  it  should  turn  out  that 
nothing  can  possibly  harmonize  them  but  the  statement  of 

*  It  contains,  let  us  recollect,  (after  all  causes  of  change,  including  a 
conquest,  have  been  at  work  upon  it,)  a  vast  majority  of  the  Saxon 
words  spoken  in  the  time  of  Alfred,  —  nearly  a  thousand  years  ago  !  — 
The  resemblance  between  the  language  of  Homer  and  the  Komaic  — 
between  the  oldest  fragments  of  Latin  and  modern  Italian  —  is  still  obvi 
ous  on  the  most  superficial  inspection ;  yet  the  interval  during  which 
these  languages  have  been  changing  within  these  moderate  limits  em 
braces  a  very  large  portion  of  authentic  history.  What  interval,  then, 
would  be  required  for  the  origination  and  formation  of  whole  classes  of 
languages  between  which  the  philologist  is  unable  to  detect  any  affinities, 
—  though  he  is  persuaded  they  all  came  from  a  common  stock  ?  Nor 
are  we  to  forget,  that,  the  further  we  recede,  the  longer  will  be  the  inter 
val  required  for  any  given  amount  of  change ;  for  the  fewer  the  lan 
guages,  the  fewer  the  elements  and  chances  of  new  combinations. 


418  REASON    AND   FAITH: 

Genesis,  that,  in  order  to  prevent  the  natural  tendency  of  the 
race  to  accumulate  on  one  spot,  and  facilitate  their  dispersion 
and  destined  occupancy  of  the  globe,  a  preternatural  interven 
tion  expedited  the  operation  of  the  causes  which  would  grad 
ually  have  given  birth  to  distinct  languages  ?  Of  the  prob 
ability  of  this  intervention,  some  profound  philologists  have, 
on  scientific  grounds  alone,  expressed  their  conviction.  But 
in  all  such  matters,  what  we  plead  for  is  only — patience; 
we  wish  not  to  dogmatize  ;  all  we  ask  is  a  philosophic  absti 
nence  from  dogmatism.  In  relation  to  many  difficulties, 
what  is  now  a  reasonable  exercise  of  faith  may  one  day  be 
rewarded  by  a  knowledge  which  on  those  particular  points 
may  terminate  it.  In  such  ways,  it  is  surely  conceivable 
that  a  great  part  of  the  objections  against  Revelation  may,  in 
time,  disappear ;  and,  though  other  objections  may  be  the  re 
sult  of  the  progress  of  the  older  sciences  or  the  origination 
of  new,  —  still  the  solution  of  previous  objections,  together 
with  the  additions  to  the  evidences  of  Christianity,  external 
and  internal,  which  the  study  of  history  and  of  the  Scrip 
tures  may  supply,  and  the  brighter  and  brighter  light  cast  by 
the  progress  of  Christianity  and  the  fulfilment  of  its  prophe 
cies,  may  inspire  increasing  confidence  that  the  new  objec 
tions  are  also  destined  to  yield  to  similar  solvents.  Mean 
while,  such  new  difficulties,  together  with  those  more  awful 
and  gigantic  shadows,  which  we  have  no  reason  to  believe 
will  ever  be  chased  from  the  sacred  page,  —  mysteries  which 
could  not  be  explained  from  the  necessary  limitation  of  our 
faculties,  and  are,  at  all  events,  submitted  to  us  as  a  salutary 
discipline  of  our  humility,  —  will  continue  to  form  that  exer 
cise  of  faith  which  is  perhaps  nearly  equal  in  every  age,  — 
and  necessary  in  all  ages,  if  we  would  be  made  "  little  chil 
dren,"  qualified  "  to  enter  the  kingdom  of  God." 

In  conclusion  ;  while  many  are  proclaiming  that  Christian 
ity  is  effete,  and  that,  in  the  language  of  M.  Proudhon  (who 
complacently  says  it  amidst  the  ignominious  failure  of  a  thou 
sand  social  panaceas  of  his  own  age  and  country),  it  will  cer- 


THEIR   CLAIMS   AND   CONFLICTS.  419 

tainly  "  die  out  in  about  three  hundred  years  "  ;  while  many 
more  proclaim  that,  as  a  religion  of  supernatural  origin  and 
supernatural  evidence  it  is  already  dying,  i£  not  dead  ;  it  were 
surely  not  unreasonable  to  remind  them  that,  even  if  Chris 
tianity  be  false,  as  they  allege,  they  are  utterly  forgetting  the 
maxims  of  a  cautious  induction,  in  saying  that  it  will  therefore 
cease  to  exert  dominion  over  mankind.  What  proof  is  there 
of  this?  Whether  true  or  false,  it  has  already  survived  num 
berless  revolutions  of  human  opinions,  and  all  sorts  of  changes 
and  assaults.  It  is  not  confined,  like  other  religions,  to  any  one 
race,  to  any  one  clime,  or  any  one  form  of  political  con 
stitution.  While  it  transmigrates  freely  from  race  to  race,  and 
clime  to  clime,  its  chief  home,  too,  is  still  in  the  bosom  of  en 
terprise,  wealth,  science,  and  civilization  ;  and  it  is  at  this  mo 
ment  most  powerful  amongst  the  nations  that  have  most  of  these. 
If  not  true,  it  has  such  an  appearance  of  truth  as  to  have  satis 
fied  many  of  the  acutest  and  most  powerful  intellects  of  the  spe- 
cies?  —  a  Bacon,  a  Pascal,  a  Leibnitz,  a  Locke,  a  Newton,  a 
Butler ;  —  such  an  appearance  of  truth  as  to  have  enlisted  in  its 
support  an  immense  array  of  genius  and  learning :  genius  and 
learning,  not  only  in  some  sense  professional,  and  often  wrong 
fully  represented  as  therefore  interested,  but  much  of  both 
strictly  extra-professional ;  animated  to  its  defence  by  nothing 
but  a  conviction  of  the  force  of  the  arguments  by  which  its 
truth  is  sustained,  and  that  "  hope  full  of  immortality  "  which 
its  promises  have  inspired.  Under  such  circumstances  it 
must  appear  equally  rash  and  gratuitous  to  suppose,  even  if 
it  be  a  delusion,  that  an  institute,  which  has  thus  enlisted  the 
sympathies  of  so  many  of  the  greatest  minds  of  all  races  and 
of  all  ages,  —  which  is  alone  stable  and  progressive  amidst 
instability  and  fluctuation, —  will  soon  come  to  an  end.  Still 
more  absurdly  premature  is  it  to  raise  a  pa?an  over  its  fall, 
upon  every  new  attack  upon  it,  when  it  has  already  survived 
so  many.  This,  in  fact,  is  a  tone  which,  though  every  age 
renews  it,  should  long  since  have  been  rebuked  by  the  con 
stant  falsification  of  similar  prophecies,  from  the  time  of  Ju- 


420 


REASON    AND   FAITH: 


lian  to  the  time  of  Bolingbroke,  and  from  the  time  of  Boling- 
broke  to  the  time  of  Strauss.  As  Addison,  if  we  mistake  not, 
humorously  tells  the  Atheist,  that  he  is  hasty  in  his  logic  when 
he  infers  that,  if  there  be  no  God,  immortality  must  be  a  de 
lusion  ;  since,  if  chance  has  actually  found  him  a  place  in  this 
bad  world,  it  may,  perchance,  hereafter  find  him  another  place 
in  a  worse;  —  so  we  say,  that  if  Christianity  be  a  delusion, 
since  it  is  a  delusion  which  has  been  proof  against  so  much 
of  bitter  opposition,  and  has  imposed  upon  such  hosts  of 
mighty  intellects,  there  is  nothing  to  show  that  it  will  not  do 
so  still,  in  spite  of  the  efforts  either  of  a  Proudhon  or  a  Strauss. 
Such  a  tone  was,  perhaps,  never  so  triumphant  as  dur 
ing  the  heat  of  the  deistical  controversy  in  our  own  country, 
and  to  which  Butler  alludes  with  so  much  characteristic,  but 
deeply  satirical  simplicity,  in  the  preface  to  his  great  work. 
"  It  is  come,"  says  he,  "  I  know  not  how,  to  be  taken  for 
granted  by  many  persons,  that  Christianity  is  not  so  much  as 
a  subject  of  inquiry,  but  that  it  is  now  at  length  discovered 

to  be  fictitious On  the  contrary,  thus  much  at  least 

will  here  be  found,  not  taken  for  granted,  but  proved,  that 
any  reasonable  man,  who  will  thoroughly  consider  the  matter, 
may  be  as  much  assured  as  he  is  of  his  own  being,  that  it 
is  not,  however,  so  clear  that  there  is  nothing  in  it."  The 
Christian,  we  conceive,  may  now  say  the  same  to  the  new 
race  of  infidels  in  our  own  day.  Christianity,  we  doubt  not, 
will  still  live,  when  they  and  their  works,  and  the  refutations 
of  their  works,  are  alike  forgotten ;  and  a  fresh  series  of  at 
tacks  and  defences  shall  have  occupied  for  a  while  (as  so 
many  others  have  done)  the  attention  of  the  world.  Christian 
ity,  like  Rome,  has  had  both  the  Gaul  and  Hannibal  at  her 
gates  :  but  as  the  "  Eternal  City,"  in  the  latter  case,  calmly 
offered  for  sale,  and  sold,  at  an  undepreciated  price,  the  very 
ground  on  which  the  Carthaginian  had  fixed  his  camp,  with 
equal  calmness  may  Christianity  imitate  her  example  of  mag 
nanimity.  She  may  feel  assured  that,  as  in  so  many  past 
instances  of  premature  triumph  on  the  part  of  her  enemies, 


THEIR   CLAIMS   AND  CONFLICTS.  421 

the  ground  they  occupy  will  one  day  be  her  own ;  that  the 
very  discoveries,  apparently  hostile,  of  science  and  philosophy, 
will  be  ultimately  found  elements  of  her  strength.  Thus  has 
it  been,  to  a  great  extent,  with  the  discoveries  in  chronology 
and  history ;  and  thus  it  will  be,  we  are  confident,  (and  to  a 
certain  extent  has  been  already,)  with  those  in  geology.  That 
science  has  done  much,  not  only  to  render  the  old  theories 
of  Atheism  untenable,  and  to  familiarize  the  minds  of  men 
to  the  idea  of  miracles,  by  that  of  successive  creations,  but 
to  confirm  the  Scriptural  statement  of  the  comparatively  re 
cent  origin  of  our  race.  Only  the  men  of  science  and  the 
men  of  theology  must  alike  guard  against  the  besetting  fallacy 
of  their  kind,  —  that  of  too  hastily  taking  for  granted  that 
they  already  know  the  whole  of  their  respective  sciences, 
and  of  forgetting  the  declaration  of  the  Apostle,  equally  true 
of  all  man's  attainments,  whether  in  one  department  of  science 
or  another,  —  "  We  know  but  in  part,  and  we  prophesy  but 
in  part." 

Though  Socrates  perhaps  expressed  himself  too  absolutely 
when  he  said  that  "  he  only  knew  that  he  knew  nothing,"  yet 
a  tinge  of  the  same  spirit  —  a  deep  conviction  of  the  pro 
found  ignorance  of  the  .human  mind,  even  at  its  best  —  has 
ever  been  a  characteristic  of  the  most  comprehensive  genius. 
It  is  a  topic  on  which  it  has  been  fond  of  mournfully  dilating. 
It  is  thus  with  Socrates,  with  Plato,  with  Bacon  (even  amidst 
all  his  magnificent  aspirations  and  bold  predictions),  with 
Newton,  with  Pascal,  and  especially  with  Butler,  in  whom,  if 
in  any,  the  sentiment  is  carried  to  excess.  It  need  not  be 
said  that  it  is  seldom  found  in  the  writings  of  those  modern 
speculators,  who  rush,  in  the  hardihood  of  their  adventurous 
logic,  on  a  solution  of  the  problems  of  the  Absolute  and  the 
Infinite,  and  resolve  in  delightfully  brief  demonstrations  the 
mightiest  problems  of  the  universe  ;  those  great  enigmas, 
from  which  true  philosophy  shrinks,  not  because  it  has  never 
ventured  to  think  of  them,  but  because  it  has  thought  of  them 
enough  to  know  that  it  is  in  vain  to  attempt  their  solution. 

36 


422  REASON   AND   FAITH  : 

To  know  the  limits  of  human  philosophy  is  "  the  better  part " 
of  all  philosophy ;  and  though  the  conviction  of  our  ignorance 
is  humiliating,  it  is,  like  every  true  conviction,  salutary. 
Amidst  this  night  of  the  soul,  bright  stars  —  far  distant  foun 
tains  of  illumination  —  are  wont  to  steal  out,  which  shine  not 
while  the  imagined  Sun  of  reason  is  above  the  horizon !  and 
it  is  in  that  night,  as  in  the  darkness  of  outward  nature,  that 
we  gain  our  only  true  ideas  of  the  illimitable  dimensions  of 
the  universe,  and  of  our  true  position  in  it. 

Meanwhile  we  conclude  that  God  has  created  "  two  great 
lights,"  —  the  greater  light  to  rule  man's  busy  day,  —  and 
that  is  Reason ;  and  the  lesser  to  rule  his  contemplative  night, 
—  and  that  is  Faith. 

But  Faith  herself  shines  only  so  long  as  she  reflects  some 
faint  illumination  from  the  brighter  orb. 


APPENDIX. 

No.  I.  pp.  389,  402. 
GENERAL  CHARACTERISTICS    OF  DR.   STRAUSS's   LIFE    OF    JESUS. 

THE  inadmissibility  of  the  principle  of  Dr.  Strauss's  theory 
of  the  "  mythical "  origin  of  Christianity  could  alone  be  dis 
cussed  within  the  contracted  limits  of  the  preceding  essay. 
It  is  there  contended,  and,  it  is  conceived,  with  reason,  that 
his  theory  does  not  account  even  for  the  origin,  much  less  for 
the  success,  of  such  a  "  myth  "  as  Christianity.  It  does  not 
account  for  the  origin  ;  since  the  more  the  historic  conditions 
of  the  problem  are  investigated,  the  more  improbable  will  it 
appear  that  such  a  "  myth  "  —  whether  we  look  at  its  intel 
lectual  or  moral  characteristics  —  could  have  been  the  prod 
uct  of  the  Jewish  mind  of  any  age,  and  its  known  prepos 
sessions  ;  and  quite  as  improbable  that,  if  it  could  have  been 
such  a  wild  growth  of  popular  fancy  and  legend,  it  should 


THEIR    CLAIMS   AND    CONFLICTS.  423 

have  accidentally  assumed  such  varied,  and,  in  the  judgment 
of  so  many  acute  minds,  such  irrefragable,  proofs  of  historic 
credibility.  The  theory  accounts  still  less  for  its  success ; 
inasmuch  as  it  is  incredible  that  such  a  "  myth,"  involving, 
if  only  a  "  myth,"  such  extravagant  and  preposterous  de 
mands  on  credulity,  should,  in  the  absence  of  the  wonderful 
events  which  form  its  basis,  be  actually  received  as  fact,  not 
only  by  a  large  portion  of  the  Jews,  but  by  still  larger  por 
tions  of  many  other  nations,  whose  whole  sympathies  and 
antipathies,  prejudices  and  prepossessions,  were  enlisted 
against  it ;  and  who,  so  far  from  being  interested  in  the  Jew 
ish  legends,  in  which  it  is  supposed  to  have  germinated,  re- 
coilq/il  with  intense  repugnance  from  them  all.  In  truth,  noth 
ing  less  than  a  universal  lunacy  of  the  nations  will  account, 
under  such  circumstances,  for  its  reception  by  them. 

Mere  admiration  of  the  beauty  of  such  a  "  myth  "  surely 
cannot  account  for  such  a  fact.  Different  races  and  nations 
admire,  and  admire  intensely,  Homer's  Iliad,  the  Arabian 
Nights,  and  Shakspeare's  Plays ;  but  these  immortal  works 
have  never  advanced  one  inch,  for  all  that,  towards  being  re 
ceived  as  true  history.  As  little  can  the  mere  assumption 
of  divine  authority  on  the  part  of  such  legends  solve  the 
mystery :  such  assumptions  in  an  enlightened  age,  and  espe 
cially  among  races  alien  from  the  nation  who  have  originated 
such  pretensions,  are  certain  to  provoke  scepticism  far  more 
strongly  than  they  invite  superstition.  The  classical  mythol 
ogy,  the  Egyptian  mythology,  and  the  Hindoo  mythology, 
(always  restricted  to  the  nations  in  whose  remote  barbarism 
they  originated,  and  with  whose  immemorial  traditions  they 
were  intertwined,)  may  be  studied  long  enough  before  they 
make  a  single  proselyte  among  those  different  races  and  dif 
ferent  nations  who  did  receive,  who  have  received,  and  who 
persist  in  receiving,  the  myths  of  Christianity  as  historic  veri 
ties.  So  that  the  very  least  that  can  be  said  is,  that  the  com 
pilers  of  the  Gospel  have,  with  an  utterly  incomprehensible 
ingenuity,  infinitely  transcended  all  other  masters  of  fable 


424  REASON    AND   FAITH  : 

and  legend,  and  have  succeeded  in  making  dreams  wilder 
than  ever  poet  feigned  wear  to  minds  of  different  ages  and 
races  (for  here  lies  the  stress  of  the  argument)  the  aspect  of 
genuine  history. 

But  though  the  principle  alone  of  Dr.  Strauss's  theory 
could  be  considered  in  the  previous  pages,  it  seemed  desira 
ble  to  describe  a  little  more  fully  some  of  the  prevailing  char 
acteristics  of  his  insidious  work.  This,  after  a  calm  and,  so 
far  as  possible,  impartial  study  of  it,  is  accordingly  attempted 
in  the  ensuing  pages.  To  track  the  author  into  all  his  details 
would,  of  course,  require  a  work  nearly  as  voluminous  as  his 
own.  But  it  is  conceived  that  the  following  observations, 
however  general,  may  be  in  some  degree  useful  in  putting 
the  young  and  unlearned  reader  upon  his  guard. 

First,  then,  it  may  be  observed,  that  the  very  title  of  the 
work  is  a  ludicrous  misnomer.  Instead  of  being  called  "  The 
Life  of  Jesus,"  ("  critically  examined,"  or  otherwise,)  it 
ought  rather  to  be  entitled,  "  A  collection  of  all  the  difficul 
ties  and  discrepancies  which  honest  criticism  has  discov 
ered,  and  perverted  ingenuity  has  imagined,  in  the  four 
Evangelists."  * 

Secondly,  though  composed  certainly  in  a  very  calm,  or 
rather  in  a  very  frigid,  style,  there  perhaps  never  was  a  book 
which  more  completely  realized  the  idea  conveyed  in  a  favor 
ite  term  of  the  Germans,  "  one-sidedness  "  (Einseitigkeit). 

Every  candid  mind  must  admit  that  the  question  of  the 
truth  of  Christianity  is  a  question  of  conflicting  probabilities. 
Now,  though  we  might  not  expect  to  find  in  Strauss's  work, 
devoted  as  it  is  to  a  special  branch  of  the  vast  theme,  an  ex 
amination  and  refutation  of  the  evidence  for  the  truth  of 
Christianity  as  derived  from  external  sources,  (the  incredibil 
ity,  nay,  the  impossibility,  of  miracles  he  quietly  takes  for 

*  "  As  for  his  doctrines,"  Quinet  says,  "  there  is  not,  I  think,  one  of 
his  boldest  propositions  which  had  not  previously  been  advanced,  sus 
tained,  and  debated.  How,  then,  can  we  account  for  the  celebrity  of  a 
work  which  appears  to  be  the  result  of  a  general  spoliation  ?  " 


THEIR   CLAIMS    AND   CONFLICTS.  425 

granted,*)  yet  one  might  justly  have  expected  that  in  endeav 
oring  to  reduce  the  Gospels  to  fiction,  by  exhibiting  their  sup 
posed  discrepancies,  he  would  have  given  some  space  at  least 
to  the  consideration  of  those  immensely  varied  internal  indi 
cations  of  truthfulness,  artlessness,  and  reality,  of  those  un 
designed,  because  deeply  latent,  coincidences,  with  which 
they  obviously  abound.  These  indications  of  historic  verity  * 
would,  at  first  sight,  seem  beyond  the  reach  of  deliberate  fic 
tion,  and  much  more  of  accident ;  while  in  number  they  far 
exceed  the  aggregate  of  those  discrepancies  with  which,  in 
justice,  they  ought  to  be  confronted  and  compared.  Dr. 
Strauss  cannot  but  be  aware  that  this  general  exquisite  tone 
of  historic  reality  is  not  imaginary  ;  inasmuch  as,  if  it  be  the 
effect  of  "art"  or  "accident,"  it  has  imposed  on  many  of 
the  acutest  minds,  and  still  imposes  on  them,  in  spite  of  all 
the  efforts  of  that  long  array  of  infidels  whose  rusty  weapons 
he  has  burnished  and  sharpened.  Yet  from  Dr.  Strauss's 
work  not  the  slightest  notion  could  be  formed,  that  there  were 
any  such  evidences  to  be  examined  :  one  would  suppose  that 
the  Gospels  were  little  more  than  a  tissue  of  contradictions 
and  discrepancies,  and  had  little  else  to  recommend  them  to 
mankind  ;  —  whose  credulous  deference  to  them,  if  this  were 
true,  would  be  a  perfectly  unaccountable  phenomenon,  more 
incredible  than  any  of  the  miracles  our  author  pronounces 
impossible.  Indeed,  prudence  itself  should  have  made  him 
more  candid  ;  for  the  more  incongruous  and  contradictory  he 
proves  the  Gospels,  the  more  arduous  he  makes  the  problem 
imposed  on  infidelity,  —  of  accounting  for  their  reception 
and  success.  If  nothing  were  in  them  but  what  he  finds 

*  As  this  is  an  important  point,  it  may  be  as  well  to  cite  Dr.  Strauss's 
express  words  :  "  Indeed,  no  just  notion  of  the  true  nature  of  history  is 
possible,  without  a  perception  of  the  inviolability  of  the  chain  of  second 
causes  and  of  the  impossibility  of  miracles."  —  Vol.  I.,  Introduction, 
sect.  13,  p.  64.  English  translation.  All  the  author  had  to  do  was 
to  prove  this,  and  he  might  have  spared  his  large  volumes  of  minute 
criticism. 

36* 


426  REASON   AND   FAITH  I 

there, —  that  difficulty  neither  he  nor  any  man  would  have 
had  to  encounter. 

Dr.  Strauss  may  say,  perhaps,  that  it  was  not  his  business 
to  exhibit  the  other  side  of  the  argument :  we  believe  him ; 
or,  rather,  we  believe  that  it  was  not  his  pleasure ;  for  it  was 
his  business.  The  truth  is,  he  was  an  advocate,  not  a  judge  ; 
'a  special  pleader  for  infidelity,  not  the  dispassionate  investi 
gator  he  would  be  thought  to  be  ;  otherwise,  he  could  not 
have*  failed  to  notice  some  of  those  opposing  considerations 
which  have  imposed,  if  they  are  ill-founded,  on  many  of  the 
greatest  minds  of  the  species  ;  which  made  a  Newton  say, 
that  he  discerned  more  indications  of  genuineness,  authen 
ticity,  and  truthfulness  in  the  Scriptures  than  in  any  other 
books  whatsoever. 

A  mind  intent  on  truth  would  have  endeavored  to  balance 
the  evidence  ;  it  is  sufficient  for  Dr.  Strauss  to  exhibit  one 
side.  It  is  as  though  he  hoped,  and  not  vainly,  (for,  from  the 
constitution  of  the  human  mind,  it  is  assuredly  a  very  proba 
ble  result,)  that,  by  keeping  the  thoughts  of  the  reader  intent 
for  a  sufficient  time  exduswely  on  alleged  objections  and  dis 
crepancies,  he  might  produce,  by  their  mere  accumulation, 
an  effect  which  would  be  in  some  danger  of  being  dissipated 
either  by  the  statement  of  the  counter-evidence,  or  by  a  state 
ment  of  only  the  real  difficulties.  To  let  the  mind  exist  for 
a  time  in  an  atmosphere  of  doubt,  —  to  breath  little  but  azote, 
—  is  one  of  the  easiest  and  most  compendious  ways  of  de 
stroying  faith.*  Accordingly,  our  author  seems  much  more 


*  This  is  often  the  effect  even  of  works  the  very  object  of  which  is  the 
refutation  of  objections,  if  they  are  exclusively  devoted  to  such  refutation. 
Speaking  of  some  such  works,  Dr.  Graves,  in  the  introduction  to  his 
work  on  the  Pentateuch,  well  observes  :  "  Those  who  were  employed  in 
refuting  the  objections  of  any  one  particular  antagonist,  were  almost  in 
evitably  led  to  magnify  these  objections  beyond  their  relative  importance 
in  any  general  consideration  of  the  subject.  The  same  writers  also  were 
frequently  induced  to  employ  their  attention  almost  exclusively  on  such 
passages  as  seemed  obscure  or  objectionable,  and  pass  with  less  distinct 


THEIR   CLAIMS   AND   CONFLICTS.  427 

solicitous  about  the  number  than  about  the  quality  of  the  ob 
jections  ;  and  is  often  as  fond  of  exaggerating  the  task  of 
reconciling  points,  even  where  he  at  last  allows  that  recon 
ciliation  is  possible,  as  of  exhibiting  the  force  of  more  for 
midable  objections.  In  a  word,  there  is  no  work  in  the  peru 
sal  of  which  it  is  more  necessary  for  the  reader  to  remem- ' 
her  the  maxim,  "  Audi  alterant  partem." 

Thirdly,  but  whether  it  was  Dr.  Strauss's  exclusive  busi 
ness  or  pleasure  —  whichever  the  reader  pleases  —  to  detect 
"  holes  "  in  the  garments  of  the  Evangelists,  has  he  ever 
made  the  rents  which  he  pretends  only  to  find  ?  In  a  word, 
has  he  dealt  fairly  by  the  objections  ?  We  fearlessly  answer 
that  he  has  not.  The  paraded  discrepancies  are  frequently 
assumed  ;  sometimes  even  manufactured. 

Let  us  take  a  single  example  by  way  of  illustration.  The 
account  of  the  entertainment  given  to  Jesus  at  Bethany  be 
fore  the  last  Passover,  which  has  often  attracted  the  attention 
of  the  Harmonists,  is  related  by  Matthew,  Mark,  and  John. 
It  is  nearly  the  universal  opinion  of  critics,  that  these  Evan 
gelists  refer  to  the  same  event,  and  that  the  entertainment  is 
a  totally  different  one  from  that  described  by  Luke,  vii.  36  - 
50.  This  last  was  apparently  given  at  a  different  time,  in  a 
different  place,  and  under  different  circumstances.  One  in 
cident,  indeed,  of  a  similar  nature,  is  recorded  in  both; 

notice  the  clear  and  direct  arguments  and  proofs  which  were  to  be  de 
rived  from  those  parts  of  the  Sacred  History  which  scepticism  itself 
could  scarcely  venture  to  attack ;  thus  suffering  the  adversary  of  revealed 
truth  to  lead  its  advocate  from  the  strongest  to  the  weakest  ground,  and 
prevent  him  from  employing  those  topics  which  would  operate  most 
powerfully  on  every  candid  and  unprejudiced  mind.  Works  constructed 
on  this  plan  have  sometimes  a  most  pernicious  effect  on  the  young,  the 
uninformed,  and  the  wavering ;  they  lead  them  to  consider  Revelation 
as"  consisting  chiefly  of  obscurities,  and  founded  chiefly  on  questionable 
facts  ;  while,  on  the  contrary,  the  great  truths  it  establishes  are  as  clear 
and  as  intelligible  as  they  are  important ;  and  the  series  of  proofs  on 
which  it  rests,  when  viewed  in  their  natural  order,  are  so  firmly  connected 
and  plainly  conclusive,  that,  if  considered  with  attention  and  candor,  they 
carry  with  them  the  fullest  conviction." 


428  REASON    AND    FAITH  I 

namely,  the  grateful  act  of  a  woman  (very  differently  char 
acterized,  however,  in  the  two  cases), who  shows  her  love  to 
the  Lord  by  a  costly  act  of  personal  attention.  Every  thing 
else  is  different.* 

Now,  in  the  account  of  the  entertainment  at  Bethany,  as 
described  by  Matthew,  Mark,  and  John,  there  is  absolutely 
no  note  of  time  ;  and  unless  such  time  were  fixed  in  the  nar 
rative  itself,  or  the  narrative  itself  formed  part  of  a  work  of 
professed  chronology,  we  should  have  no  right  to  fix  it ;  for 
nothing  is  more  common  in  regular  history,  and  still  more 
in  biographical  collectanea  (which  is  probably  the  most 
characteristic  description  of  the  Gospels),  to  introduce  an  in 
cident,  not  because  it  occurred  at  the  same  time  with  those 
amidst  which  it  is  inserted,  but  to  throw  some  light  on 
them,  or  supply  some  link  in  relation  to  them.f 

*  Greswell  says  :  "  The  unction  at  Bethany  is  recorded  by  St.  Matthew, 
St.  Mark,  and  St.  John,  between  any  of  whose  accounts  and  Luke  (vii. 
86  -  50),  where  also  an  unction  is  related,  the  difference  is,  as  I  think,  so 
palpable  and  so  indisputable,  that,  notwithstanding  the  trouble  which 
some  learned  men  have  taken  to  prove  them  the  same,  I  should  consider 
it  a  waste  of  time  and  argument  seriously  to  prove  them  distinct."  — 
Greswell's  Dissertations  upon  the  Harmony  of  the  Gospels,  Vol.  II.  p.  127. 

t  John  says  (xii.  1  )  that  Christ  came  to  Bethany  "  six  days  before  the 
Passover" ;  and  in  ver.  12,  that  "  on  the  morrow  "  he  made  his  triumphant 
entry  into  Jerusalem.  The  account  of  the  entertainment,  as  also  a  state 
ment  of  the  resort  of  many  Jews  to  Bethany  to  see  Jesus,  falls  between 
these  notes  of  time ;  if  then  it  did  not  occur  on  the  evening  previous  to  the 
entry  (Jesus  returned  to  Bethany,  let  us  recollect,  on  several  successive 
evenings),  John  may  have  anticipated  these  transactions  at  Bethany  for 
some  special  reason ;  and  in  this  case  the  rfj  erravpiov  wilt  be  connected 
with  the  note  of  time  in  the  first  verse  of  the  chapter.  On  the  other  hand, 
if  it  be  more  natural  to  connect  that  note  of  time  with  the  entertainment, 
it  does  not  prevent  the  supposition  that,  for  some  special  reason  (as 
Greswell  and  Robinson  both  think),  Matthew  and  Mark  may  have  post 
poned  their  account  of  it.  One  states  that  two  days  before  the  Passover, 
Jesus  predicts  his  approaching  betrayal,  and  the  other  that  at  that  date 
his  enemies  were  plotting  his  death.  Both  afterwards  give  an  account 
of  the  incident  at  -Bethany,  but,  like  John,  without  any  note  of  time. 
Neither  John  nor  they  limit  the  time  in  the  incident  itself;  if  the  context 


THEIR  CLAIMS  AND  CONFLICTS.          429 

Yet  Strauss,  without  qualification,  says  :  "  Neither  is  the 
time  of  the  occurrence  precisely  the  same  ;  for,  according  to 
Matthew  and  Mark,  the  scene  takes  place  after  the  solemn 
entrance  of  Jesus  into  Jerusalem,  only  two  days,  at  the  ut 
most,  before  the  Passover ;  according  to  John,  on  the  other 
hand,  before  the  entrance,  as  early  as  six  days  prior  to  the 
Passover."  This  positive  statement  of  the  time  (as  if  it  were 
specified  in  the  Evangelists,  while  in  fact  it  is  merely  inferred 
by  Strauss  from  the  context),  is  a  specimen  of  his  usual  license. 
He  assumes  that  he  may  treat  the  Gospels  as  if  they  were 
chronological  tables.  Though  no  date  is  affixed  to  the  inci 
dent  in  question,  he  chooses  to  place  it  between  the  two  near 
est  dates  he  can  find  ;  and  then  gives  the  date,  not  as  if  it 
were  an  inference  of  his  own,  but  as  if  the  Evangelists  had  in 
serted  it  in  the  account  of  the  incident  itself ! 

Again,  Matthew  and  Mark  say,  the  woman  poured  the 
ointment  on  Christ's  head  ;  John,  that  she  anointed  his  feet. 
Here  is  another  discrepancy,  exclaims  Dr.  Strauss.  How  so  ? 
the  reader  rejoins.  May  not  both  be  true  ?  —  Once  more  ; 
Matthew  says,  that  the  "  disciples  "  —  Mark,  that  "  some  of 
them  who  were  present"  —  John,  that  "  Judas  "  —  manifested 
indignation  at  the  spectacle.  Here  are  more  discrepancies, 
exclaims  Dr.  Strauss.  Why  so  ?  it  may  be  retorted  again. 
May  not  all  have  been  right  ?  And  to  show  that  the  narrative 
involves  no  contradiction,  may  it  not  be  asked,  whether,  if  the 
same  historian  had  said,  that  "  the  woman  broke  an  alabaster 
box  of  ointment,  and  both  poured  the  perfume  on  the  Lord's 
head,  and  also  anointed  his  feet,  —  that -some  who  were  pre 
sent  murmured,  and  amongst  the  rest  Judas,"  would  Dr. 
Strauss,  or  any  one  else,  have  thought  there  was  any  thing  in 
it  which  required  criticism  ?  Why,  then,  should  he  affirm  this, 
because  a  portion  of  the  facts  appears  in  one  historian,  and  a 
portion  in  another  ? 

in  John  be  assumed  to  fix  it,  we  need  not  assume  that  theirs  does ;  if 
theirs  be  assumed  to  fix  it,  we  need  not  assume  that  John's  does. 
Strauss  assumes  both,  and  then  speaks  as  if  he  had  assumed  nothing. 


430  REASON    AND    FAITH  : 

Again,  Matthew  and  Mark  expressly  describe  this  enter 
tainment  in  Bethany  as  taking  place  at  the  house  of  "  Simon 
the  Leper.  "  John  does  not  mention  the  name  of  the  host ; 
but  still  states  that  it  was  in  Bethany  ;  that  Mary  the  sister  of 
Lazarus  was  the  person  who  broke  the  box  of  ointment ;  that 
Martha  served.  —  Matthew  and  Mark  were  most  probably 
mistaken,  argues  Dr.  Strauss  ;  from  the  above  particulars,  it 
must  have  been  the  house  of  Lazarus  where  the  entertainment 
was  given  !  And  this,  too,  although  Lazarus  himself  is  intro 
duced  by  John  in  terms  which  much  more  naturally  suggest 
the  idea  that  he  was  a  guest  rather  than  the  host.  "  He  was 
one  of  those  who  sat  at  table  with  Jesus  "  (TO>V  o-wavaK€tp.€va>v 
at™).  The  reason,  however,  of  the  arbitrary  conjecture  is 
immediately  obvious.  Having  by  this  license  of  supposition 
proved,  in  his  way,  that  John  meant  that  the  scene  took  place 
in  the  house  of  Lazarus,  though  he  does  not  say  that  it  did, 
and  that  therefore  Matthew  and  Mark  are  in  error,  when  they 
positively  say  it  took  place  elsewhere,  he  not  only  concludes 
that  Matthew  and  Mark  hastily  wrote  on  erroneous  informa 
tion  ;  but  that  such  divergences  (entirely  of  his  own  making, 
be  it  remembered)  justify  the  supposition  that  the  wholly  dif 
ferent  narrative  given  by  Luke  is  but  a  distorted  account  of 
the  same  entertainment,  and  affords  a  further  proof  of  the  fa 
cility  with  which  the  legends  of  the  Gospel  were  varied,  aug 
mented,  and  embellished  !  That  is,  having  tortured  the  very 
variations  in  the  same  narrative  (which  simply  prove  that  there 
was  no  collusion)  into  a  proof  that  parts  of  the  narrative  are 
successive  products  of  fiction,  he  proceeds  to  argue  that  a 
narrative  of  a  totally  different  event  is  but  another  variation 
of  the  same  variations  ;  and  then,  assuming  that  it  was  so,  pro 
ceeds  complacently  to  draw  his  conclusion  that  nearly  the 
whole  is  divested  of  historic  credibility.  Yet  he  has  nothing 
whatever  to  found  this  assumed  identification  of  the  two  nar 
ratives  upon,  except  that  it  does  not  seem  probable  that  two 
women  should  have  proffered  a  not  unusual  mark  of  respect 
(though  more  costly  than  usual)  to  an  honored  guest ;  costly 


THEIR   CLAIMS   AND   CONFLICTS.  431 

in  this  case,  because  proportionate  to  the  love  and  veneration 
of  the  parties  towards  their  great  Master  and  Benefactor. 

In  short,  there  is  nothing  which  may  not  be  proved  or  dis 
proved  in  history  by  such  a  style  of  criticism,  —  such  a  license 
of  conjecture  and  assumption.  There  are  no  historic  writers 
in  the  world  whose  narratives  might  not  be  resolved  into 
myths  by  the  consistent  application  of  the  same  artifices. 

There  is  no  injustice  in  saying  that  a  very  large  proportion 
of  the  difficulties  on  which  Dr.  Strauss  expatiates  are,  in  the 
same  manner,  difficulties  which  he  assumes  to  be  insoluble, 
because  he  first  assumes  the  conditions  which  make  them  so. 
Such  a  critic  is  to  historic  truth  what  the  concave  lens  is  to 
light.  Parallel  rays  become  divergent,  and  convergent  rays 
are  rendered  parallel.  At  all  events,  they  have  a  focus  as 
distant  as  our  author  chooses  to  place  it. 

Fourthly,  our  author  appears  to  act  on  certain  comprehen 
sive,  though  novel,  canons  of  historic  criticism,  the  adoption 
of  which  renders  his  present  task,  or  any  other  achievement 
of  the  like  kind  which  he  may  propose  to  himself,  a  very  easy 
one  ;  as,  first,  that  if  an  event  be  not  in  his  judgment  probable, 
that  circumstance  shall  often  be  sufficient  at  once  to  neutral 
ize  the  positive  testimony  which  affirms  it  ;  secondly,  that  if 
he  can  point  to  an  event  or  narrative  in  the  Old  Testament 
analogous  to  one  in  the  New,  the  former  may  be  adduced  as 
a  proof  of  the  mythical  origin  of  the  latter  ;  thirdly,  that  if 
the  "  not  probable  "  reaches,  in  his  judgment,  the  impossible 
(in  which  category  he  ranks  both  miracle  and  prophecy),  it  is 
to  be  rejected  at  once  ;  which  of  course  ought  to  supersede 
all  discussion  with  regard  to  the  majority  of  the  narratives  of 
the  Gospels;  fourthly,  if  a  narrative  is  summary  and  general, 
it  may  be  suspected  that  the  author  had  no  personal  knowl 
edge  of  the  facts  ;  if  it  is  full  of  little  dramatic  traits,  he  may 
be  suspected  of  embellishment.  A  word  or  two  on  each  of 
these,  accompanied  by  as  many  illustrations.* 

*  The  more  important  of  these  novel  canons  are  expressly  avowed  by 
Strauss,  in  laying  down  his  "  criteria  by  which  to  distinguish  the  unhis- 


432  '   REASON    AND    FAITH  I 

1.  Such  and  such  an  event,  or  such  and  such  a  conjunction 
of  events,  Dr.  Strauss  often  thinks  it  sufficient  at  once  to  dis 
miss,  as  in  his  judgment  improbable.  Thus  he  finds  that 
Jesus  is  represented  as  making  a  disclosure  of  his  Messiahship 
to  the  woman  of  Samaria.  "  What  could  induce  Jesus  to 
send  roaming  into  the  futurity  of  religious  history  the  contem 
plation  of  a  woman,  whom  he  should  rather  have  induced  to 
examine  herself,  and  to  ponder  on  the  corruptions  of  her  own 
heart  ?  "  And  as  Dr.  Strauss  can  find  no  satisfactory  answer 
unless  it  were  a  vainglorious  wish  to  elicit,  from  her,  "  at  any 

torical  in  the  Gospel  narrative."  —  Introduction,  sect.  16.  We  may  sum 
marily  reject,  he  tells  us,  all  miracles,  prophecies,  narratives  of  angels  and 
of  demons,  and  the  like,  as  simply  "impossible  "  and  "  irreconcilable  with 
the  known  and  universal  laws  which  govern  the  course  of  events  "  ;  he  de 
ciding  (but,  unhappily,  not  proving}  that  "  the  absolute  cause  never  dis 
turbs  the  chain  of  secondary  causes  by  single  arbitrary  acts  of  interposi 
tion." —  We  are,  in  a  similar  manner,  to  regard  with  extreme  suspicion 
whatever  does  not  follow  the  ordinary  experience  of  mortals  ;  as,  for  ex 
ample,  any  very  extraordinary  precocity  in  an  individual;  or  what  is 
"  psychologically  improbable,"  as  when  a  person  is  described  as  "  feeling, 
thinking,  acting,  in  a  manner  directly  opposed  to  his  own  habitual  mode 
and  that  of  men  in  general " ;  a  rule  which,  considering  that  half  history 
is  a  record  of  human  inconsistencies, —  many  of  them  outrageous  enough, 
—  is,  even  on  Strauss's  theory,  to  be  cautiously  applied."  Indeed,  if  his 
theory  of  Christianity  be  true,  its  reception  by  mankind  is  itself  the 
strangest  of  all  these  "  psychological "  inconsistencies  ;  so  that  he  ought 
by  rights  to  abandon  his  theoiy  by  this  very  criterion  for  justly  applying 
it :  and  affirm  either  that  Christianity  must  be  true,  or  that  it  has  not  been 
believed.  — Lastly,  "If  the  form  be  poetical,  or  the  actors  converse  in  a 
more  diffuse  and  elevated  strain  than  might  be  expected  from  their  train 
ing  and  situations,  such  discourses,  at  all  events,  are  not  to  be  regarded  as 
historical";  but  then,  conveniently  enough,  the  "absence  of  these  marks 
of  the  '  unhistorical '  are  also  quite  compatible  with  the  mythical  char 
acter  of  the  composition,  '  since  the  mythus  often  wears  the  most  simple 
and  apparently  historical  form. '  "  By  these  means,  the  banquet  of  his 
tory  may  be  made  as  airy  as  that  which  feasted  the  eyes  and  mocked  the 
stomach  of  the  craving  Sancho,  in  his  island  of  Barataria.  There  is  not 
a  dish  which  the  wand  of  our  critical  Pedro  Rezio  de  Aguero  cannot 
cause  to  vanish  from  the  table ;  and  it  is  well  if  he  allows  us  the  "  hun 
dred  confected  wafers}  and  a  few  thin  slices  of  quince." 


THEIR    CLAIMS    AND    CONFLICTS.  433 

X 

cost,"  an  acknowledgment  of  Messianic  claims,  and  as  it 
would  be  unjust  to  ascribe  this  design  to  Jesus,  we  must  im 
pute  the  incident  to  "  the  glorifying  legend  "  or'"  the  idealizing 
biographer  "  !  —  He  finds  it  stated  that  the  disciples  mistook 
those  words  of  our  Lord,  "  Lazarus  sleepeth,  but  I  go  that  I 
may  awake  him  out  of  sleep  "  ;  it  is  improbable,  he  says.  — 
He  thinks  the  same  of  their  misconstruction  of  his  words  at 
the  well  of  Samaria, "  I  have  meat  to  eat  that  ye  know  not 
of.  "  "  It  is  in  the  fourth  Evangelist's  manner ,"  says  Dr. 
Strauss,  "  which  we  have  learned  to  recognize  by  so  many 
examples.  They  are  amongst  those  carnal  interpretations  of 
expressions  intended  spiritually  by  Jesus,  which  are  of  habit 
ual  occurrence  in  the  fourth  Gospel,  and  are  therefore  suspi 
cious  "  ;  that  is,  whatever  is  characteristic  of  classes  of  per 
sons  must  be  suspicious,  for  such  characteristic  traits  must  be 
frequently  recurrent.  He  finds  that  the  rulers  are  repre 
sented  as  mocking  Christ  on  the  cross,  with  the  words,  "  He 
trusted  in  God  ;  let  him  deliver  him  now  if  he  will  have  him  "  ; 
—  it  is  improbable,  says  Strauss,  "  for  these  words  are  taken 
from  a  psalm,  in  which  they  are  put  into  the  mouth  of  the  un 
godly,  and  the  Sanhedrists  could  not  have  adopted  them  with 
out  voluntarily  assuming  that  character;  which  they  would 
surely  have  taken  care  to  avoid."  Hypocrites  and  murder 
ers  are  not  so  punctilious.  As  if  they  were  likely  to  prove 
particularly  solicitous  about  perfect  consistency  of  character  ! 
It  is  a  wonder  Dr.  Strauss  did  not  also  prove  that  it  is  "  improb 
able  "  that  they  would  have  acted  like  "  the  ungodly,"  and 
thus  rendered  dubious  the  fact  of  the  crucifixion. 

In  these  instances  of  a  liberal  application  of  an  entirely 
novel  canon  of  historical  criticism,  no  pains  have  been  taken 
to  select  the  worst.  They  are  such  as  occur  every  few  pages  ; 
and  as  we  might  have  selected  some  examples  less  flagrant, 
so  we  might  have  given  very  many  still  more  so.  To  us  it  ap 
pears  that  a  man  might  just  as  well  argue  that,  since  the  rout 
at  Cressy  and  Poitiers  is  a  priori  improbable,  the  return  of 
Bonaparte  from  Elba  improbable,  his  expedition  to  Russia  im- 
37 


434  REASON   AND   FAITH: 

v 

probable,  we  are  therefore  at  liberty  to  reject  these,  and  a  thou 
sand  other  events.  Indeed,  there  is  hardly  any  thing  that  may 
not,  in  this  quiet  way,  be  rejected  as  improbable,  unless  it  be 
that  Dr.  Strauss  should  ever  find  any  thing  that  is  probable. 

But  though  full  of  arbitrary  assumptions  himself,  he  will 
scarcely  allow  hypothesis  or  conjecture,  even  when  most  fair 
ly  adopted  by  his  opponents.  It  is  strange  and  improbable, 
he  argues,  that,  supposing  Joseph  was  compelled  to  repair  to 
Bethlehem  to  the  census,  Mary  should  have  gone  with  him, 
since  only  the  males  were  required  to  go.  "  There  might  be 
a  dozen  reasons,  of  which  we  know  nothing,"  exclaim  the 
critics.  "  But  they  are  all  imaginary  reasons,"  rejoins  Dr. 
Strauss.  "  And  is  not  your  l  no  reason '  equally  imagina 
ry,"  may  surely  be  fairly  retorted.  "  You  are  perpetually 
employing  these  '  no  reasons.'  Suffer  us  to  imagine  a  few 
reasons  ;  and  we  may  do  so  with  the  more  justice,  inasmuch 
as  any  mode  of  reconciling  alleged  discrepancies  of  fact  and 
statement,  however  hypothetical,  is  truly  valid  as  a  reply  to 
your  charge  of  contradictions ;  while  an  arbitrary  assump 
tion  of  '  no  reasons '  for  a  fact  asserted  by  an  historian,  is 
universally  admitted  to  be  one  of  the  most  precarious  of  all 
modes  of  reasoning." 

2.  If  our  author  finds  any  event  in  the  Old  Testament 
similar  to  any  in  the  New,  such  analogy  (often  faint 
enough)  becomes  forthwith  the  suggestive  embryo  of  the 
evangelical  narrative,  or  one  of  the  elements  out  of  which  it 
was  constructed,  and  determines  it  to  be  instantly  of  mythi 
cal  origin.  This  is  a  convenient  rule,  since  all  history, 
sacred  or  profane,  "  while  the  constitution  of  human  nature 
remains  the  same,"  (to  quote  the  language  of  the  philosoph 
ic  Thucydides,)  will  reproduce  and  exhibit  closely  analogous 
events.  Does  he  find,  for  example,  instances  of  celebrated 
Hebrews,  the  children  of  long  childless  parents  ?  That  is 
sufficient  to  account  for  the  mythical  tale  of  the  Baptist's 
parentage  !  Does  he  find  that  Jesus  is  represented  as  seated 
by  a  "  well,"  when  the  Samaritan  woman  met  with  him  ? 


THEIR   CLAIMS    AND    CONFLICTS.  435 

It  is  that  "  idyllic  locality  with  which  the  old  Hebrew  legend 
associates  so  many  critical  incidents "  !  *  Therefore,  of 
course,  the  incident  is  mythical.  Jesus  meets  with  a  woman 
there  :  so  did  Eliezer  meet  with  Rebekah,  and  Jacob  with 
Rachel ;  and  hence  the  evangelic  fable  !  "  Jesus  begs  of  the 
woman  to  let  him  drink ;  so  does  Eliezer  of  Rebekah  "  : 
nothing  less  than  demonstration,  of  course,  that  the  Gospel 
narrative  is  but  an  adaptation  of  the  Old  Testament  facts,  or 
rather  a  new  romance  made  out  of  an  old  one  !  The  star  of 
Bethlehem  is  similarly  suggested  by  that  in  the  prophecy  of 
Balaam  ;  and  the  transfiguration,  by  the  visit  of  Moses  to 
Sinai.  The  birth  of  Christ  is  made  known  to  the  shepherds 
at  Bethlehem,  while  "  watching  their  flocks  " ;  so  is  Moses 
"  visited  by  a  heavenly  apparition  "  under  somewhat  similar 
circumstances,  and  "  God  took  David  from  his  sheepfolds  to 
be  the  shepherd  of  his  people."  Who  can  fail  to  see  that 
such  incidents  are  the  obvious  germ  of  the  evangelical  myth  1 
—  Into  what  pleasant  romance  may  we  transform  history,  if 
we  are  at  liberty  to  assume  what  have  been  ignorantly  taken 
for  "  historic  parallels  "  to  be  but  variations  of  a  common 
"  legend  "  !  There  is  an  end  of  all  history,  if  we  are  to  in 
dulge  conjecture  in  this  way.  A  man  may  as  well  argue 
that  the  emulous  valor  of  the  two  soldiers,  T.  Pulfio  and 
L.  Varenus,  in  the  fifth  book  of  Caesar's  Gallic  War,  was  no 
doubt  a  fiction  suggested  by  the  narrative  of  the  similar  rivals 
in  the  fourth  book  of  the  Anabasis  of  Xenophon  ;  or  attribute 
the  proffer  of  the  crown  to  Cromwell,  and  its  rejection  by 
him,  to  the  similar  event  related  of  Caesar. 

3.  But  when  our  author  comes  to  the  miraculous  or  the 
prophetic,  then  how  delightfully  easy  is  his  task  !  His  curt 
axiom  of  historical  criticism  —  that  the  supernatural  is  in-. 

*  He  who  remembers  that  the  "well"  is  and  ever  has  been  in  the 
East,  will  little  wonder  that  historic  scenes  are  often  connected  with  it. 
The  frequent  mention  of  this  "  idyllic  locality "  in  Oriental  narrative 
is  hardly  more  "  suspicious,"  than  similar  references  to  the  ancient 
"  forum  "  or  the  modern  "  market-place." 


436  REASON   AND   FAITH  : 

credible  and  impossible  —  instantly  disposes  of  whole  chap 
ters,  which  would  otherwise  seem  impressed  with  every 
internal  mark,  and  supported  by  every  external  proof,  of  their 
truthfulness.  "  The  supernatural,'*  it  is  said,  "  here  shows 
we  are  not  on  historic  ground  ;  there  is  so  much  about 
angels,  demons,  miracles ;  of  course  this  is  not  to  be  literally 
believed,  and  cannot  be  true."  —  Dr.  Strauss  vehemently  ex 
claims  against  it  as  a  petitio  principii,  if  a  critic  assigns 
supernatural  power  as  a  solution  of  any  difficulty.  But  then  is 
it  any  worse  than  his  own  petitio  principii,  —  that  a  narrative 
is  at  once  to  be  rejected  because  it  involves  the  preternatural  ? 
In  fact,  it  only  shows  that  neither  party  in  this  war  of  critical 
objections  can  bring  the  contest  to  a  decisive  termination. 
The  question  must  be  carried  higher,  and  the  previous  gen 
eral  credibility  of  the  evidence  for  Christianity  ascertained 
and  determined  on  the  entire  balance  of  evidence.  Let  that 
be  established,  and  it  will  crush  to  atoms  by  its  weight  the 
frail  fabric  raised  on  a  discrepancy  here  and  there.  On  the 
other  hand,  let  Dr.  Strauss  prove  what  he  so  preposterously 
takes  for  granted,  "  that  miracles  are  impossible  "  ;  and  he 
need  not  strain  criticism,  not  to  say  honesty,  to  effect  the 
downfall  of  a  system  which  is  absolutely  dependent  on  its  su 
pernatural  claims,  and  frankly  avows  that  dependence. 

But  though  Dr.  Strauss  generally  relies  in  the  case  of  mir 
acles  on  his  usual  comprehensive  a  priori  reason  for  reject 
ing  them,  he  is  sometimes  at  the  superflous  pains  of  trying  to 
prove  them  historically  improbable  ;  and  then  exhibits  his  usual 
license  of  conjecture.  Thus  he  thinks  that,  since  the  resur 
rection  of  Lazarus  is  not  mentioned  by  the  first  three  Evan 
gelists,  it  is  most  improbable  that  it  should  have  been  known 
•by  them  ;  therefore  it  is  all  but  certain  that  it  was  not  known  ; 
if  not  known  to  them,  it  could  only  be  from  its  not  having 
occurred ;  therefore  it  is  certainly  to  be  rejected  :  an  ingeni 
ous  sorites,  by  which  we  may  at  any  time  dispense  with  the 
positive  testimony  of  an  historian,  if  we  do  not  find  what  he 
relates  related  also  by  other  historians  !  But  in  this  and  oth- 


THEIR   CLAIMS   AND   CONFLICTS.  437 

er  cases,  if  Dr.  Strauss  had  but  proved  his  postulatum  that 
u  a  miracle  is  impossible,"  he  might  have  dispensed  with  this 
circuitous  way  of  proving,  from  assumptions  of  historic  prob 
abilities,  that  it  is  also  in  some  degree  "  improbable." 

On  the  same  axioms  our  author  disposes  at  once,  by  one 
comprehensive  excision,  of  all  possibility  of  proofs  from  proph 
ecy  ;  prophecy  cannot  be  true.  Yet,  as  before,  he  here  em 
ploys  the  assumptions  he  denies  to  others.  It  is  unreason 
able,  in  his  judgment,  to  infer  that  any  event  mentioned  in 
the  New  Testament  is  a  proof  of  the  truth  of  ancient  prophe 
cies  ;  because  we  are  there  in  the  region  of  the  "  supernat 
ural  "  ;  nay,  by  the  ingenious  assumptions  he  is  pleased  to 
make,  it  is  impossible,  even  if  there  are  true  prophecies,  that 
they  can  ever  be  proved  to  be  so  ;  since  the  moment  he  sees 
any  apparent  similarity  between  any  statement  in  the  Old 
Testament  and  any  event  in  the  New,  that  similarity,  ipso 
facto,  affords  him  indications  of  the  mythical  origin  of  the 
New  Testament  narrative  ;  and  the  more  exact  the  corre 
spondence,  the  stronger  the  indications  :  so  that  the  conformity 
of  the  event  no  longer  proves  the  truth  of  the  prophecy  ;  but 
the  fact  of  the  prophecy  is  uniformly  considered  the  cause 
of  the  "  myth."  We  ought  not  perhaps  to  be  much  surprised, 
if  in  a  similar  way  some  disciple  of  Dr.  Strauss  should  prove 
that  the  Jews  by  a  sort  of  dramatized  myth  have  been  pleased 
to  "  disperse  "  themselves  "  among  all  nations,"  and  have 
done  so  at  different  periods  of  history,  because  they  found  in 
their  ancient  writings  it  became  them  to  be  zealous  for  the 
honor  of  their  ancient  lawgiver  and  prophets ;  that,  in  a 
similar  manner,  nations  hostile  to  Christianity  have  embraced 
it,  not  because  it  was  truly  predicted  that  they  should,  but  in 
order  to  render  that  declaration  a  true  prediction ;  and  that 
even  such  phenomena  as  Dr.  Strauss  —  apparently  fore 
shadowed  in  the  most  distinct  manner  —  are  no  more  than 
a  sort  of  practical  myths  to  which  those  prophecies  have  giv 
en  rise  !  At  all  events,  it  is  impossible  for  him  to  fail ;  for  if 
any  one  pleads  the  conformity  of  an  event  with  the  predic- 
37* 


438  REASON    AND    FAITH  : 

tion  as  a  proof  of  the  truth  of  the  latter,  our  author  is  imme 
diately  armed  with  his  comprehensive  postulatum,  as  in  the 
case  of  miracles  :  —  "  We  here  get  into  the  region  of  the  su 
pernatural  ;  of  course  nothing  is  to  be  believed  there."  Have 
we  any  more  business  to  believe  his  easy  assumptions,  that 
circumstantial,  and  seemingly  well-attested  histories,  are  no 
more  than  universally  accredited  myths,  constructed  because 
men  were  predisposed  to  realize  ancient  prophecy  ?  especially 
in  the  many  cases  in  which,  so  far  as  we  know  the  conditions 
of  their  history,  they  certainly  could  not  have  thus  realized 
them,  if  they  would  ;  and,  so  far  as  we  can  judge  of  human 
motives,  would  not  have  realized  them  in  such  a  form  if  they 
could  ? 

And  here  it  may  be  worth  while  to  observe  some  of  the 
strange  consequences  which  must  follow  from  the  admission 
of  Dr.  Strauss's  theory  of  the  mythical  origin  of  Christianity, 
namely,  that  it  was  little  more  than  a  super-foatation  on  Jew 
ish  prejudices,  and  the  natural  product  of  Messianic  legends 
and  fables.  It  appears,  first,  that  the  genius  of  that  nation 
having  ever  been  preeminently  exclusive,  this  product  of  their 
prejudices  is  mainly  characterized  by  the  renunciation  of  their 
prejudices ;  secondly,  that  though  the  peculiar  product  of  their 
national  prepossessions,  it  was  rejected  and  is  still  rejected  by 
the  great  majority  of  the  nation  ;  thirdly,  that  though  their 
ancient  prophecies  led  them  to  dote  upon  the  idea  of  a  trium 
phant  and  conquering  Messiah,  —  a  prepossession  in  which 
the  early  advocates  of  Christianity  seem  to  have  originally 
had  their  full  share,  —  this  product  of  their  prepossessions  is 
directly  opposed  to  that  notion,  and  exhibits  to  them  the  re 
pulsive  novelty  of  a  crucified  and  suffering  Messiah  ;  fourthly, 
that  though  their  prepossessions  prompted  them,  as  they  ever 
have  done,  to  monopolize  the  favor  of  the  Deity,  these  prepos 
sessions  somehow  dictated  a  system  which  lays  the  axe  at  the 
root  of  that  darling  hypothesis  ;  fifthly,  that  this  product  of 
national  prepossessions,  founded  on  old  Messianic  fables  and 
myths,  though  it  was  not  acceptable  to  the  taste  of  the  ma- 


THEIR   CLAIMS   AND   CONFLICTS.  439 

jority  of  the  nation,  yet  was  extensively  received  by  nations 
to  which  not  only  no  Messianic  myths  could  have  been  accept 
able,  but  to  which  all  Messianic  myths  must  have  been  odi 
ous  ;  that,  in  short,  the  system  did  not  meet  the  prejudices 
of  those  who,  according  to  the  theory,  must  have  been  preju 
diced  in  its  favor  ;  and  did  suit  the  prejudices  of  those  who, 
according  to  that  or  any  other  theory,  must  have  been  preju 
diced  against  it !  A  curious  hypothesis  it  would  certainly  be, 
—  and  yet  a  strictly  parallel  one,  —  which  should  assure  us 
that  a  certain  religious  institution  (making  the  most  enormous 
demands  on  men's  credulity,  if  false}  was  the  natural  effect 
of  the  previous  historic  development  and  ancient  preposses 
sions  of  the  English,  which  yet  was  somehow  vehemently 
rejected  by  the  bulk  of  the  English  ;  but  was  nevertheless  re 
ceived  implicitly  by  the  French  and  other  nations,  their  mor 
tal  enemies,  to  the  rejection  of  all  the  institutions  which  had 
been  the  growth  of  their  own  historical  development  and  an 
cient  prepossessions.  The  fact  is,  that  Christianity,  so  far 
from  being  the  natural  product  of  the  previous  condition  of 
the  Jewish  nation,  was  as  directly  opposed  to  all  which 
venerable  prepossession  and  ancestral  pride  taught  them  most 
fondly  to  cherish,  as  it  was  to  the  prejudices,  superstitions, 
and  philosophy  of  the  nations  around  them.  St.  Paul  truly 
represents  the  matter  when  he  says  (in  the  words  cited  in  the 
preceding  essay)  that  "  Christ  was  to  the  Jews  a  stumbling- 
block,  and  to  the  Greeks  foolishness." 

4.  Another  ingenious  artifice  of  our  author  (though  not  so 
systematically  adopted  as  the  preceding)  is,  that,  by  his  arbi 
trary  requirements,  the  just  conditions  of  historical  represen 
tation  can  never  be  fulfilled.  Is  a  narrative  minutely  circum 
stantial  ,  —  full  of  those  little  traits,  those  incidental  touches 
and  allusions,  which  are  in  general  regarded  as  proofs  of  re 
ality  and  truthfulness  "  beyond  the  reach  of  art  "  ?  They 
are  dramatic  embellishments  designed  to  enhance  the  verisi 
militude  of  the  story.  Is  the  narrative  bare  and  meagre  ? 
That  very  generality  and  vagueness  of  statement  must  pass 


440  REASON   AND   FAITH  I 

for  proof  that  the  facts  are  not  given  by  any  one  intimate 
with  the  facts.  Some  of  our  author's  countrymen  have  justly 
commented  on  this  convenient  ambiguity  in  the  decisions  of 
the  critical  oracle.  He  has  been  accused,  he  says,  of  "  using 
both  the  particularity  and  the  brevity  of  narratives,  as  proofs 
of  their  mythical  character."  And  in  spite  of  his  defence, 
most  justly.  "  In  all  cases,"  he  tells  us,  "  in  which  there 
are  extant  two  accounts  of  a  single  fact,  the  one  full,  the  oth 
er  concise,  opinions  may  be  divided  as  to  which  of  them  is 
the  original.  When  these  accounts  have  been  liable  to  the 
modifications  of  tradition,  it  is  important  to  bear  in  mind  that 
tradition  has  two  tendencies ;  the  one  to  sublimate  the  con 
crete  into  the  abstract,  the  individual  into  the  general ;  the 
other,  not  less  essential,  to  substitute  arbitrary  fictions  for  the 
historical  reality  which  is  lost.  If  then  wfc  put  the  want  of 
precision  in  the  narrative  of  the  first  Evangelist  to  the  acccfunt 
of  the  former  function  of  the  legend,  ought  we  at  once  to  re 
gard  the  precision  and  dramatic  effect  of  the  other  Gospels 
as  a  proof  that  their  authors  were  eyewitnesses  ?  Must  we 
not  rather  examine  whether  these  qualities  be  not  derived 
from  the  second  function  of  the  legend  ?  " 

We  soon  see  how  summary  this  examination  is,  and  in 
what,  as  a  matter  of  course,  it  results.  As  thus  :  —  "In  de 
tailed  narratives,  of  which  we  shall  presently  notice  many  ex 
amples,  while  Matthew  simply  tells  what  Jesus  said  on  a  cer 
tain  occasion,  the  two  other  Evangelists  are  able  to  describe 
the  glance  with  which  his  words  were  accompanied.  (Mark, 
iii.  5  ;  x.  21  ;  Luke  vi.  10.)  On  the  mention  of  a  blind 
beggar  of  Jericho,  Mark  is  careful  to  give  us  his  name,  and 
the  name  of  his  father  (x.  46).  From  these  particulars  we 
might  already  augur  what  the  examination  of  single  narratives 
will  prove  :  namely,  that  the  copiousness  of  Mark  and  Luke 
is  the  product  of  the  second  function  of  the  legend,  which  we 
may  call  the  function  of  embellishment."  —  With  two  such 
"  functions  "  of  the  "  legend,"  the  "  function"  of  the  histor 
ical  critic  becomes  easy  enough. 


THEIR   CLAIMS   AND   CONFLICTS.  441 

Almost  every  inconvenient  narrative  may  of  course  easily 
be  found  too  long  or  too  short,  too  meagre  or  too  minute. 
On  such  principles,  if  Truth  herself  were  to  photograph  a 
scene  of  history,  it  would  be  competent  to  Dr.  Strauss  to 
prove  that  her  rays  were  flatterers ;  he  might  exclaim,  with 
Miss  Edgeworth's  Irishman,  "  that  the  picture  was  more  like 
than  the  original." 

5.  At  one  feature  in  Dr.  Strauss's  work  men  will  certainly 
do  well  to  wonder.  It  is  at  the  perfection  which  the  critical 
temperament  may  attain.  It  might  a  priori  have  been  thought 
impossible  that  any  man,  whatever  his  conviction  that  the 
wonderful  creations  of  the  New  Testament  were  fictions  or 
myths,  could  have  glowed  so  little  in  treating  of  them, — 
could  have  felt  so  little  their  sublimity  or  beauty,  —  could  have 
so  effectually  suppressed  all  emotion  in  applying  to  them  the 
canons  of  his  minute  criticism,  or  evinced  so  little  remorse 
in  the  attempt  to  destroy  the  impression  of  their  historic  real 
ity.  On  the  score  of  taste  alone,  few  would  have  supposed 
it  possible  that  a  man  could  have  treated  the  scene  of  the 
Last  Supper,  the  still  more  wonderful  scenes  of  Gethsem- 
ane,  or  those  of  the  Cross  and  Sepulchre,  with  so  little 
power  of  appreciating  their  intense  beauty,  sublimity,  and  pa 
thos.  An  iconoclast,  however  stolid,  could  hardly  take  up 
his  hammer  to  shiver  to  atoms  the  most  exquisite  forms  of 
sculpture  with  the  feelings  of  a  common  stone-mason.  It 
would  be  difficult  to  conceive  that  there  is  another  in  all  the 
world  to  match  our  author  in  the  nil  admirari  vein,  —  in  the 
power  of  preserving  a  stoical  apathy  in  the  presence  of  (to 
say  the  least)  the  divinest  conceptions  of  uninspired  genius ; 
or  one  who  is  so  utterly  a  stranger  to  that  enthusiasm  which 
must  enter  as  an  integral  element  into  the  constitution  of  a 
critic,  if  he  is  to  be  equipped  for  the  discharge  of  any  of  the 
more' elevated  functions  of  criticism.  Some  degree  of  this 
enthusiasm,  indeed,  is  essential  to  their  right  performance ; 
and  in  its  utter  absence  a  truly  great  critic  can  no  more  be 
formed,  even  though  he  possess  cart-loads  of  minute  learning, 


442  REASON   AND    FAITH  : 

than  any  number  of  skeletons  can  make  a  living  man.  How 
different  is  the  tone  in  which,  with  similar  infidelity,  a  more 
poetic  soul,  like  that  of  Byron  or  Shelley,  has  often  broke 
out  into  spontaneous  homage  to  the  glorious  poetry  of  the 
Old  and  New  Testament ! 

It  may  be  said,  perhaps,  that  Dr.  Strauss  thought  it  his  du 
ty  to  suppress  all  emotion ;  if  so,  it  must  be  confessed  he  has 
completely  succeeded  in  suppressing  all  signs  of  it.  It  is 
not  every  man  who  could  sponge  out  the  pictures  of  Raphael 
without  a  faltering  hand ;  or  march  through  the  galleries  of 
the  Louvre  or  the  British  Museum  with  the  sole  purpose  of 
applying  his  six-inch  rule  to  the  feet  and  hands  of  each  an 
cient  statue,  in  order  to  ascertain  that  they  exactly  corre 
sponded  in  length ;  or  find  out,  by  chipping  them  with  his 
hammer,  —  by  knocking  off  a  nose  here,  and  an  ear  there, 
—  the  precise  mineralogical  character  of  the  stone  or  marble 
from  which  they  were  chiselled.  He  gives  us,  more  perfect 
ly  than  any  other  critic,  a  notion  of  that  class  of  men  who, 
in  the  bitter  language  of  one  of  our  own  poets,  can 
"  Botanize  upon  their  mother's  grave."  * 

*  When  Dr.  Strauss  does  deviate  (as  he  sometimes  does)  from  the 
equanimity  of  criticism,  it  certainly  is  not  in  the  direction  of  a  genial 
admiration  for  moral  beauty,  or  sublimity,  or  pathos.  It  is  to  indulge 
himself  in  some  approach  to  a  joke  or  sneer,  in  which,  unhappily,  the 
will  to  be  witty  has  not  been  seconded  by  nature.  Thus,  when  com 
menting  on  our  Lord's  triumphal  procession  into  Jerusalem  on  the  ass 
on  which  man  had  never  before  ridden,  he  thinks  it  decorous  to  say : 
"  One  does  not  understand  how  Jesus  could  designedly  increase  the  dif 
ficulty  of  his  progress,  by  the  choice  of  a  hitherto  unridden  animal : 
which,  unless  he  kept  it  in  order  by  Divine  omnipotence  (for  the  most 
consummate  human  skill  would  not  suffice  for  this  on  his  first  riding), 
must  inevitably  have  occasioned  much  disturbance  to  the  triumphal  pro 
cession To  such  an  inconvenience  Jesus  would  assuredly  not 

have  exposed  himself  without  a  cogent  reason The  authors  of 

the  intermediate  Gospels  did  not  hesitate  to  receive  this  trait  into  their 
memoirs,  because  they,  indeed,  in  writing,  would  not  experience  the  same 
inconvenience  from  the  undisciplined  animal  which  it  must  have  caused 
to  Jesus  in  riding."  It  is  not  in  every  man's  power  to  be  witty ;  but  it 


THEIR   CLAIMS    AND   CONFLICTS.  443 

It  may  be  said  that  this  is  a  question  of  taste.  It  is,  but 
not  of  taste  only  ;  for,  as  already  said,  the  possession  of  some 
thing  like  a  soul  is  of  much  importance  in  relation  to  all  the 
higher  functions  of  criticism.  A  more  genial  temperament 
would  not  only  have  naturally  given  another  tone  to  many  of 
the  criticisms  of  Strauss,  but  is  absolutely  essential  to  the 
appreciation  of  many  of  the  points  of  which  he  treats.  As 
it  is,  he  resembles  many  a  commentator  on  our  own  Shak- 
speare,  whose  proper  sphere  is  so  exclusively  the  investiga 
tion  of  petty  details,  trivial  anachronisms,  incongruities  of 
costume,  and  errors  in  geography,  that  they  never  attempt 
criticisms  of  a  higher  order  without  displaying  their  incom 
petence,  and  creating  the  very  problems  which  they  then 
strive  to  solve.  In  like  manner  Strauss  often  makes  difficul 
ties,  when  in  reality  there  are  none,  and  where  many  more 
philosophic  critics  have  felt  that  there  is  none.  Thus,  to  take 
a  single  example,  he  discovers  something  absolutely  incredi 
ble  in  John's  mission  to  Jesus,  to  inquire  whether  he  was  in 
deed  the  "  Messiah  "  ;  which,  says  he,  after  the  scene  at  his 
baptism,  John  could  not  doubt.  The  probability  of  such 
doubt,  only  a  deeper  knowledge  of  human  nature  than  our 
critic  probably  possesses  could  teach  him.  When  we  con 
sider  the  strange  mutations  of  the  human  mind,  under  differ 
ent  circumstances  of  gladness  or  depression,  from  the  liveli 
est  hopes  to  the  most  abject  fears,  —  the  sudden  cloud  of 
scepticism  which  sometimes  troubles  the  brightness  of  the 
most  undoubted  conviction,  and  from  which  even  the  mind 
of  a  Chillingworth  or  a  Pascal  has  not  been  always  free,  — 

is  in  every  man's  power  to  be  decent.  If  not  too  much  to  ask,  we  should 
request  Dr.  Strauss,  in  his  next  edition,  to  relapse,  in  this  and  some  few 
other  passages,  into  his  native  stolidity.  It  would  be  friendly  advice, 
even  for  his  own  sake ;  for  the  "  gods  have  not  made  him  witty,"  any 
more  than  they  made  poor  Audrey  "  poetical " ;  and  although  it  is  true 
that  he  might  choose  subjects  for  his  unwieldy  humor  in  which  he  might 
give  less  pain  to  his  readers,  it  is  impossible  that  he  should  choose  any, 
however  light  or  merry,  in  which  such  humor  as  his  could  give  them 
pleasure.  His  friends  should  remind  him  that  it  is  more  easy  to  imitate 
Gibbon's  infidelity  than  Gibbon's  wit. 


444  REASON   AND   FAITH  I 

the  transient  catalepsy  which  will  sometimes  seize  the  strong 
est  faith,  when  strongly  tried  ;  —  when  we  add  to  these  general 
considerations  the  particular  causes  of  depression  in  the  pres 
ent  case,  partly  physical,  and  partly  mental,  but  all  tending 
to  produce  the  result  in  question  ;  —  the  influences  of  suffer 
ing  and  imprisonment, —  the  "sickness  of  heart"  which  is 
proverbially  the  effect  of  "  hope  long  delayed,"  —  the  ob 
scurity  and  meanness  of  the  supposed  Messiah,  contrasted 
probably  with  recently  vivid  expectations,  not  only  of  his 
sudden  glory,  but  of  his  assumption  of  a  too  Jewish  species 
of  glory  (for  there  is  no  reason  to  believe  that  even  the  Bap 
tist  was  perfectly  defecated  from  all  Jewish  prejudices) ;  — 
when  we  consider  all  these  things,  the  temporary  invasion  of 
painful  perplexity  related  by  the  Evangelists  is  any  thing  but 
unnatural ;  and  with  such  a  doubt,  the  historic  reality  of  the 
whole  simple  narrative,  and  Christ's  words,  of  touching  and 
solemn  admonition,  beautifully  harmonize,  —  "  And  blessed 
is  he  whosoever  shall  not  be  offended  in  me  " !  To  those 
who  are  deeply  read  in  human  nature,  the  phenomenon  will 
produce  little  wonder ;  for  we  well  know  that  men  have  come 
to  doubt  of  facts  of  which  they  have  been  as  plenarily  con 
vinced  as  if  they  had  seen  a  miracle  for  their  confirmation ; 
that  is,  they  have  distrusted  their  own  senses;  and  even  a 
miracle  appeals,  and  can  appeal,  to  nothing  stronger.  In  an 
age  when  a  belief  in  the  Supernatural,  and  that  referrible  to 
two  opposite  sources,  was  at  all  events  common,  it  is  still  less 
wonderful  that  men  should  have  sometimes  had  a  momentary 
doubt  of  the  heavenly  source  of  visions,  of  which  memory 
could  give  them  no  stronger  proofs  than  of  their  past  sensa 
tions  ;  and  even  of  these,  it  appears,  men  may  be  driven  to 
doubt.  Least  of  all  ought  Dr.  Strauss  to  wonder,  since, 
upon  his  principles,  even  if  he  were  to  see  a  miracle,  he  must 
necessarily  believe  that  his  very  senses  have  played  him  false  ; 
he  having  predetermined  that  a  "  miracle  is  impossible."  * 


*  Even  supposing  the  Gospels  to  be  fictions  or  myths,  we  greatly  doubt 
whether,  in  such  cases  as  that  here  treated,  the  men  who  could  compose 

/" 


THEIR   CLAIMS   AND   CONFLICTS.  445 

Dr.  Strauss  closes  his  volumes  by  a  solemn  inquiry,  which 
not  only  renders  it  difficult  to  suppose  that  the  frigidity  of  his 
temperament  has  not  affected  his  heart  as  well  as  his  head, 
but  almost  makes  one  doubt  whether  he  be  not  a  mythical 
personage  himself;  so  contrary  are  all  the  indications  it  gives 
to  those  with  which  one  would  wish  to  associate  intelligent 
and  honorable  humanity.  He  makes  it  a  grave  question, 
whether  one  who  has  ceased  to  believe  in  the  historic  validity 
of  Christianity  can  rightfully  occupy  the  post,  and  play  the 
part — it  is  a  very  appropriate  phrase  —  of  a  Christian  min 
ister  and  pastor  in  the  Church  of  Christ ;  performing  its  rites 
and  preaching  its  doctrines,  in  a  sense  totally  different  from 
that  which  his  flock  .attach  to  them ;  and  disguising,  all  the 
time,  his  real  sentiments  and  real  convictions,  though  he  knows 
that  the  very  men  who  listen  to  his  words,  and  receive  the 
sacred  elements  at  his  hands,  would,  could  they  penetrate 
his  disguise,  despise  and  abhor  him  as  one  of  the  most  con 
temptible  of  hypocrites  !  Truly,  with  whatever  success  Dr. 
Strauss  may  have  reduced  the  history  of  Christianity  to  fable, 
he  has  certainly  succeeded  in  metamorphosing  its  morality, 
and,  with  that,  all  the  morality  of  every  other  religion.  Out 
of  Germany,  we  believe,  such  a  question  as  Dr.  Strauss  has 
calmly  discussed  could  not  be  discussed  at  all ;  and  even  in 
Germany,  few,  it  may  be  suspected,  would  choose  thus  open 
ly  to  plead  it.  Well  may  Menzel  exclaim  :  "  In  our  learned 
age  every  thing  depends  on  Hermeneutics.  A  man  might 
become  a  Bonze,  and  swear  upon  the  symbolic  books  of  Fo, 
and  yet,  by  means  of  a  dexterous  exegesis,  invest  the  stupid 
books  with  as  rational  a  meaning  as  he  pleased.  They  do 
not  alter  the  word ;  they  swear  upon  it,  and  think  of  some 
thing  else" 

such  parables,  describe  such  scenes,  portray  such  characters,  and  weave 
such  an  artful  texture  of  g-wasz-history,  were  not  likely  to  be  far  better 
judges  of  the  "  psychologically  improbable  "  than  any  Dr.  Strauss  ;  just  as 
in  any  similar  decision  against  Shakspeare,  the  chances  would  be  that  he 
had  read  Truth  and  Nature  too  profoundly  for  his  critics. 
38 


446  REASON   AND    FAITH! 

In  one  respect,  the  work  of  Dr.  Strauss  has  been  of  excel 
lent  service.  He  has  done  much,  not  indeed  to  render  the 
old  hypotheses  of  Naturalism  untenable,  —  for  that  they  al 
ways  were, —  but  to  expose  their^  utter  absurdity.  He  has 
very  successfully  unroofed  and  dismantled  these  theories, 
and  left  them  in  desolation.  Henceforth,  nothing  is  left  their 
inhabitants  but  to  migrate  into  the  land  of  myths,  or  take  ref 
uge  in  unsophisticated  Christianity. 

Such  a  work  as  that  of  Dr.  Strauss  is  calculated  to  do 
some  service  also  in  two  other  ways :  1st.  Since  the  marks 
of  truth  and  reality,  the  minute  harmonies,  and  undesigned, 
and  often  most  refined,  coincidences  in  the  evangelic  history 
are  much  more  numerous  than  the  discrepancies,  these  last 
cannot  turn  the  scale ;  while  they,  at  least,  prove  most  evi 
dently  that  the  Evangelists  did  not  write  in  concert :  if  they 
had,  they  would,  certainly  in  the  most  important  cases,  have 
taken  care  to  obviate  such  objections.  If  they  did  not  write 
in  concert,  then  the  "  substantial  unity  "  of  the  narratives,  taken 
in  connection  with  their  "  circumstantial  variety,"  forms  the 
strongest  proof  of  their  historic  worth.  2dly.  As  many  of 
the  internal  proofs  of  the  historic  truthfulness  of  the  Scrip 
tures  have  been  evolved  by  the  attacks  of  infidelity,  and  prob 
ably  would  have  lain  hidden  for  ages,  had  not  infidelity 
elicted  them,  the  same  will  assuredly  be  the  result  —  and  in 
a  great  measure  has  been  so  —  in  the  present  case.  Many 
of  the  discrepancies,  having  been  shown  to  be  perfectly  rec 
oncilable,  are  being  transferred  to  the  other  side  of  the  ac 
count,  and  more  and  more  will  be  so  as  time  rolls  on  ;  while 
those  which  are  not  reconcilable,  and  yet  cannot  be  proved 
to  involve  contradictions,  are  at  least  so  many  arguments  for 
the  independence  of  the  evangelic  testimonies. 

It  may  be  not  unreasonably  surmised  that  the  existence  of 
such  variations,  if  not  essential  to  the  validity  of  the  Gospel 
testimony,  yet  involves  (such  is  the  perverseness  of  man) 
fewer  provocatives  of  his  doubts  and  hostility,  than  any  other 
alternative  that  could  have  been  devised.  In  this,  as  in  other 


THEIR    CLAIMS    AND   CONFLICTS.  447 

instances,  it  will  probably  in  time  be  discovered  that  God  has 
in  mercy  exacted  the  least  arduous  test  of  man's  faith  which 
could  be  a  reasonable  test  at  all.  It  is  not  difficult  to  conjec 
ture  what  course  infidelity  would  have  taken,  had  the  testimo 
ny  reached  us  in  any  other  form.  If  the  evangelical  history 
had  been  attested  only  by  one  writer,  it  is  easy  to  see  what 
an  uproar  the  generation  of  Strausses  would  have  made  about 
the  absurdity  of  receiving  such  wonderful  recitals  on  any 
single  testimony  ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  had  there  been  sev 
eral  witnesses,  and  their  accounts  absolutely  coincident,  no 
less  loud  would  have  been  the  clamors  about  transparent  col 
lusion  and  conspiracy.  It  is  proverbially  hard  to  please  those 
who  will  not  be  pleased ;  and  impossible  for  Omnipotence 
itself  to  satisfy  the  perverse  demands  of  men  who  are  inclined 
to  find  or  make  reasons  for  rejecting  what  they  are  not  in 
clined  to  receive.  God  himself  cannot  adopt  any  purely 
moral  instruments  of  conviction  and  persuasion,  of  which  man 
cannot,  with  self- destructive  ingenuity,  turn  the  edge. 

Let  us  imagine  a  problem  ;  —  to  deliver  to  mankind  a  sys 
tem  of  facts  and  doctrines  (making,  as  it  is  admitted  the  Gos 
pel  does,  large  demands  on  faith),  in  the  most  unobjectiona 
ble  manner.  It  is  evident  it  must  depend  on  no  single  tes 
timony  ;  it  must  exhibit,  in  its  multiplicity  of  testimonies, 
variations  enough  to  prove  that  there  was  no  concert  or  collu 
sion,  and  agreement  enough  to  prove  their  common  veracity. 
It  may  well  be  doubted  whether  any  product  of  human  inge 
nuity  would  be  found  to  fulfil  all  these  conditions  so  perfectly 
as  the  four  Gospels,  especially  viewed  in  conjunction  with  the 
Acts  and  the  Epistles.  The  variations,  at  all  events,  are  infi 
nitely  less  than  those  which  have  characterized  every  ordi 
nary  cycle  of  myths,  —  those  gradual  formations  from  float 
ing  popular  traditions,  those  shapeless  embodiments  of  popu 
lar  modes  of  thought  and  feeling,  associations  and  tendencies. 
When  the  particles  of  which  these  consist  are  no  longer  held 
in  solution,  but  condense  themselves  into  a  pseudo-historic 
form,  they  never  crystallize  (if  we  may  use  the  expression) 


448  REASON    AND    FAITH  I 

into  so  near  an  approach  to  a  regular  solid  as  is  presented  in 
the  Evangelists.  They  are  uniformly  amorphous  deposits.  If 
Dr.  Strauss  doubts  it,  we  commend  to  him  an  achievement 
worthy  of  his  critical  prowess.  Let  him,  in  relation  to  some 
such  cycle  of  myths  (for  example,  the  Grecian  mythology,  or 
the  legends  of  old  Rome,  or  the  stories  of  Robin  Hood,  or 
those  of  the  Knights  of  the  Round  Table,  or  the  Chronicles 
of  Charlemagne),  change  places  with  his  opponents ;  and 
while  they  state  the  historic  discrepancies,  incongruities,  and 
contradictions,  let  him  play  the  harmonist  ;  and  let  him  see 
whether  he  can  reduce  the  difficulties  which  they  will  pro 
pose  to  him  to  any  thing  like  the  same  vanishing  quantities  to 
which  they  have  reduced  the  difficulties  he  proposes  to  them ; 
and  let  the  test  of  his  success  be  this,  —  his  being  able  to  in 
duce  the  powerful,  acute,  and  cultivated  minds,  who,  after 
the  fullest  investigation,  persist  in  believing  the  historic  verity 
of  the  Evangelists,  to  receive  as  historical  the  myths  he  shall 
patronize.  If  he  shall  say  that  it  is  impossible  that  the  experi 
ment  can  be  tried,  inasmuch  as  it  is  impossible  to  resusci 
tate  a  myth  which  has  been  once  exploded,  we  reply,  that,  to 
the  infidel  and  the  heathen,  the  alleged  "  myths"  of  Chris 
tianity  are  virtually  in  that  condition  ;  and  yet  she  often  con 
verts  the  one  to  the  reception  of  them  as  true  history,  and  still 
oftener  induces  the  other  to  reject  his  own  living  myths  in  fa 
vor  of  her  own  alien  pretensions.  Dr.  Strauss  is  welcome  to 
attempt  either  course,  —  of  convincing  his  infidels  or  convert 
ing  his  heathens,  —  with  any  circle  of  myths  he  shall  choose 
to  take  under  the  protection  of  history. 

After  having  tried  both  the  frigid  system  of  Paulus  and  the 
equally  frigid  system  of  Strauss,  —  the  arctic  and  antarctic  cir 
cles  of  theology,  —  equally  bleak,  dreary,  sterile,  icy,  —  it  is 
to  be  hoped  that  the  Germans  will  in  time  find  out  that  there 
are  other  zones  and  milder  skies  in  which  they  may  dwell  in 
safety  ;  where  their  wanderings  in  quest  of  truth  may  cease, 
and  "  they  may  find  rest  unto  their  souls."  It  is  a  consum 
mation  devoutly  to  be  wished,  and  not  altogether  unreasona- 


THEIR    CLAIMS   AND   CONFLICTS.  449 

ble  to  hope.  But  assuredly  they  cannot  have  either  the  envi 
able  tranquillity  of  the  sincere  Christian,  or  the  unsafe  re 
pose  of  the  confirmed  infidel,  while  they  will  perversely  as 
pire  to  the  impossible  luxury  of  being  Christians  and  infidels 
at  the  same  time,  or  strive  to  realize  their  arduous  paradox  of 
a  "  believing  unbelief." 

*#*  Though  it  was  impossible,  within  the  limits  prescribed  to  the 
preceding  remarks,  to  enter  minutely  into  the  questions  of  criticism 
involved  in  such  a  work  as  that  of  Dr.  Strauss,  it  may  be  as  well  to 
point  the  attention  of  the  reader,  who  honestly  wishes  information 
and  satisfaction  on  the  more  important  points,  to  some  of  the  works 
in  which  he  may  obtain  them.  It  were  superfluous  to  mention  Lard- 
ner's  and  Paley's  works.  Several  others  have  recently  appeared  in 
English,  and  of  distinguished  excellence.  Amongst  them  may  be 
mentioned  Greswell's  "  Harmony  and  Dissertations  "  ;  Robinson's 
"  Harmony  "  ;  "  The  Literary  History  of  the  New  Testament,"  an 
unpretending  but  valuable  volume,  in  which  many  of  the  more  diffi 
cult  and  important  questions  are  treated  in  a  manner  likely  to  be  all 
the  more  acceptable  to  multitudes  of  readers,  inasmuch  as  it  is  free 
from  the  extreme  and  often  tedious  minuteness  which  distinguishes 
more  ample  works;  and,  lastly,  Dr.  S.  Davidson's  "Introduction 
to  the  New  Testament,"  in  which  a  large  portion  of  the  difficulties, 
not  so  much  originated  as  compiled,  digested,  and  exaggerated  by 
Strauss,  are  discussed  with  great  learning,  acuteness,  and  candor. 


No.  II.  p.  401. 

WHETHER    MAN    IS    INCOMPETENT    TO   JUDGE    OF   A    DIVINE 
REVELATION    FROM    ITS    CONTENTS  ? 

THIS  doctrine,  it  may  be  said,  must  be  received  with  limi 
tations.  This  is  true  ;  and  the  limitations  are  obvious  enough. 
Neither  Butler  nor  any  one  else  who  has  asserted  it  can  be 
supposed  to  have  meant  that  the  whole  of  Christianity  is  to  be 
regarded  as  a  system  so  far  beyond  our  capacity  of  judging 
of  it,  that  we  are  absolutely  incompetent  to  pronounce  on  the 
excellence  or  wisdom  of  any  part.  Often  and  justly  has  it 
38* 


450 


REASON   AND   FAITH 


been  maintained,  that  the  exquisite  morality  of  the  Gospel,  — 
both  as  to  substance  and  form,  —  as  well  as  many  of  its  doc 
trines,  are  so  adapted  to  the  nature,  and  so  approve  them 
selves  to  the  consciousness  of  man,  as  to  furnish  no  insignifi 
cant  indications  of  a  divine  origin. 

For  this  reason  Dr.  Chalmers,  who  in  his  earlier  work  on 
the  "  Evidences  "  excluded  the  internal  class,  from  the  sup 
posed  incompetence  of  man  to  form  a  judgment  on  the  sub 
ject,  afterwards  changed  his  mind ;  and,  in  his  later  work, 
gave  this  class  of  evidences  their  just  place.  All  that  can  be 
maintained,  and  all  that  a  reasonable  man  would 'venture  to 
maintain  is  this  ;  —  that  though  we  may  see  that  many  parts 
of  Christianity  are  worthy  of  God,  we  are  not  hastily  to  con 
clude  that  where  we  do  not  see  this,  such  parts  do  not  come 
from  him.  This  would  be  false  logic,  and  unjustifiable  pre 
sumption.  To  say  that  man  is  competent  to  judge  of  some 
parts  and  not  of  the  whole  of  the  system,  is  no  more  than  say 
ing  of  some  complex  machine,  or  some  vast  fabric,  that 
enough  may  be  known  of  it  to  justify  the  belief  that  consum 
mate  wisdom  presided  over  its  construction,  though  it  may 
be  impossible  to  penetrate  the  design  of  every  part,  or  com 
prehend  the  bearings  of  the  whole.  It  is  in  fact  precisely 
what  the  theist  says,  in  his  argument  for  the  existence  of 
God,  founded  on  the  proofs  from  design  in  the  visible  crea 
tion.  He  sees  enough,  and  more  than  enough,  to  vindicate 
his  conclusion  ;  but  if  he  were  to  affirm  that  he  is  competent 
to  judge  of  the  design  or  coherence  of  the  universal  fabric, 
and  to  pronounce  that  such  and  such  parts  were  unworthy  of 
the  Deity  ;  that,  like  Alphonso  of  Castile,  he  could,  had  God 
been  pleased  to  share  his  counsels  with  him,  have  suggested 
some  auspicious  improvements,  men  would  laugh  at  him,  if 
it  were  not  for  pity,  or  pity  him,  if  it  were  not  for  horror. 
"  The  atom  !  "  they  would  say.  "  How  can  he  pretend  to 
know  that  this  or  that  arrangement  is  unworthy  of  the  Deity  !  " 
It  becomes  us,  in  every  such  case,  to  say  as  Socrates  did  of 
the  obscurities  in  the  works  of  Heraclitus,  —  only  with  infi- 


THEIR    CLAIMS   AND    CONFLICTS.  451 

nitely  more  reason,  —  "  What  I  understand  pleases  me  well ; 
and  I  doubt  not  that  what  I  do  not  understand  would  please 
me  as  well,  if  I  did  but  understand  it !  " 


No.  III.  pp.  407,  411. 

ON    THE    TWO    THEORIES   ACCOUNTING    FOR    THE    VARIATIONS 
AND    DISCREPANCIES    IN    THE    SCRIPTURES. 

IT  must  be  admitted,  (as  indeed  is  expressly  admitted  at  the 
close  of  the  paragraph  to  which  this  note  is  appended,  and  sub 
sequently,  p.  411,)  that  it  is  very  possible  for  a  man  who  con 
cedes  the  immense  preponderance  of  the  sum  of  the  evidence 
for  the  truth  of  Christianity  over  the  sum  of  the  objections 
against  it,  to  take  exception  to  certain  portions  of  the  sacred 
records,  historic  or  otherwise,  as  mistakes  or  errors  of  the 
writers,  and  yet  apply  this  principle  within  perfectly  innocu 
ous  limits ;  it  must  also  be  admitted  that  tbe  principle  in 
question  is  often  in  fact  applied  within  such  limits;  that  is,  so 
applied  as  not  to  touch  any  thing  which  a  candid  mind  would 
contend  to  be  of  the  essence  of  Christianity.  Such  a  man 
may  ask  as  Paley,  for  argument's  sake,  asks  in  his  chapter  on 
the  Discrepancies,  —  What  can  it  matter  to  the  substantial 
credibility  of  the  records,  if  it  were  admitted  that  such  and 
such  trivial  variations  in  the  narrative,  or  such  and  such  un 
important  fallacies  in  the  reasoning,. had  arisen,  in  the  one 
case,  from  erroneous  information,  or,  in  the  other,  from  Jew 
ish  modes  of  thinking  and  feeling  ?  How  is  the  essence  of 
Christianity  affected  by  it  ?  Is  any  other  history  discredited 
on  account  of  unimportant  discrepancies  ?  To  many  power 
ful  and  candid  minds  this  hypothesis  is  satisfactory,  and,  as 
they  apply  it,  it  is  also  innocuous. 

And  if  other  men  would  apply  the  theory  with  the  same 
judgment,  or  if  it  had  in  itself  any  obvious  limits  to  control 
its  application,  the  difference  between  it  and  that  advocated 
in  the  essay  would  not  be  worth  the  ammunition  to  be  expend- 


452  REASON   AND    FAITH  I 

ed  in  the  controversy.  The  difference  resolves  itself  merely 
into  the  mode  of  accounting  for  certain  difficulties  and  discrep 
ancies  which  both  parties  admit  do  not  touch  the  substantial 
credibility  of  the  system. 

The  precise  point  of  agreement  and  the  precise  point  of  di 
vergence  in  the  two  may  be  thus  briefly  stated. 

Both  parties  agree  that,  on  fairly  weighing  the  entire  evi 
dence,  external  and  internal,  it  is  eminently  improbable,  or 
rather  impossible,  that  Christianity  should  have  been  either  a 
product  of  artful  fiction,  or  an  accidental  deposit  of  tradition  ; 
and  if  it  were  either  the  one  or  the  other,  that  in  such  an  age 
and  amidst  so  much  necessary  prejudice  and  opposition,  its 
fictions  or  its  myths  should  have  been  received  as  facts  ;  — 
and  that  therefore  the  Gospel  is  substantially  true.  But  both 
are  also  compelled  to  admit,  that  there  are  some  objections 
which  cannot  be  solved,  and  some  discrepancies  which  can 
not  be  reconciled.  The  advocate  of  the  one  hypothesis  says  : 
"  I  think  it  more  probable  that  such  discrepancies  are  either 
the  result  of  the  inevitable  effects  of  the  mode  in  which  an 
cient  books  are  transmitted,  and  which  no  miracles  are  prom 
ised  to  prevent ;  or  that  these  discrepancies  are  such  in  ap 
pearance  only  ;  sometimes  arising  from  the  omission  of  some 
fact  which,  if  stated,  would  reconcile  them ;  or  from  some 
similar  cause."  The  reasonableness  of  such  an  hypothesis  he 
founds,  both  on  the  admitted  fact  that  the  like  difficulties  from 
the  same  causes  exist  in  other  writings,  which,  so  far  from 
being  harshly  assumed  to  be  insoluble  contradictions,  never 
affect  the  credit  given  to  their  authors  ;  and  that  in  such  writ 
ings,  as  well  as  in  those  of  the  New  Testament,  real  solutions 
of  many  difficulties  have  been  effected  by  critical  recensions 
of  the  text,  or  by  more  diligent  historic  investigation  of  collat 
eral  evidence  ;  while  of  others  it  is  easy  to  see  that  many, 
perhaps  we  may  say  the  great  majority,  are  fairly  removable 
by  supposed  omissions  or  supposed  restrictions,  whioh,  in  the 
silence  of  the  writers,  are  just  as  allowable  as  the  hypotheti 
cal  assumption  that  no  such  omissions  have  been  made,  and 


THEIR   CLAIMS   AND    CONFLICTS.  453 

no  such  restrictions  are  conceivable.  He  further  thinks  that 
this  theory  of  accounting  for  the  difficulties  is,  a  priori,  more 
probable  than  the  other,  because,  admitting  the  immensely 
preponderant  evidence  for  the  truth  of  Christianity,  it  seems 
hardly  supposable  that,  when  so  stupendous  an  intervention 
as  is  implied  in  miracles  and  prophecy  had  been  employed  to 
authenticate  a  religious  system,  that  system  was  left  liable  to 
indeterminate  corruption  and  depravation  in  the  very  act  of 
propounding  it  to  the  world; — because,  on  inspecting  the 
writings  themselves,  the  very  fact  that  such  men  as  their  au 
thors  had  produced  what,  intellectually,  morally,  and  histori 
cally,  it  seems  impossible  that  they  should  ever  have  pro 
duced  of  themselves,  indicates  that  they  had  undergone  a  meta 
morphosis  which  he  cannot  resolve  into  any  thing  but  their 
subjection  to  divine  illumination  and  divine  superintendence  ; 
—  and  because  he  finds  in  their  writings  a  great  number  of 
expressions,  which,  taken  collectively,  seem  to  indicate  their 
claim  to  that  illumination  and  superintendence,  to  a  degree 
which  excludes  error  from  the  sacred  books  as  they  were  first 
given  to  the  world  ;  and  that  these  expressions,  to  the  full  ex 
tent  of  their  fairly  interpreted  meaning^are,  of  course,  authen 
ticated  by  whatever  evidences  substantiate  any  other  state 
ment  of  theirs. 

But  his  great  reason  for  distrusting  the  opposite  hypothesis 
is  that  mentioned  in  the  preceding  essay ;  namely,  that,  in 
rejecting  portions  of  the  records  of  the  canonical  Scriptures 
as,  in  his  judgment,  errors  or  fallacies  of  the  original  writers, 
he  would  seem  to  be  playing  fast  and  loose  with  that  general 
evidence  which  equally  substantiates  the  claims  of  what  he 
receives  and  what  he  rejects  ;  that  is,  to  "  accept  evidence 
where  it  pleases  him,  and  to  refuse  it  where  it  pleases  him 
not."  Lastly,  he  declares  that  he  has  no  criterion  for  the  ap 
plication  of  the  principle. 

The  advocate  of  the  other  hypothesis  says :  "  I  believe 
that,  over  and  above  the  errors  and  discrepancies  which  arise 
out  of  inevitable  variations  of  the  text,  and  from  our  imper- 


454  REASON    AND    FAITH  ! 

feet  knowledge  of  facts  which,  if  known,  would  demonstrate 
that  many  such  errors  and  discrepancies  are  apparent  only, 
—  and  many  such  cases  I  grant,  —  there  are  unimportant 
points,  on  which  these  writers  were  allowed  to  be  occasionally 
misled  by  inaccurate  information,  and  to,, fall  into  error  under 
the  influence  of  uncorrected  prejudice ;  but  I  fully  believe 
that  the  force  of  the  general  evidence  demonstrates  the  sub 
stantial  credibility  of  their  statements,  and  the  divine  origin 
of  every  essential  and  characteristic  doctrine  of  Christianity. 
As  to  one  of  the  above  arguments,  I  do  not  see  that  the  writ 
ers  claim  an  absolute  immunity  from  error ;  and,  in  point  of 
fact,  do  you  not  admit,  that,  if  they  did  not  deliver  what  was 
erroneous,  it  has  been  made  so  by  the  corruptions  which  the 
lapse  of  time  and  imperfect  transmission  have  occasioned  ? 
And  do  you  not  also  make  the  ultimate  rejection  or  reception 
of  all  such  matters  depend  on  the  conclusions  of  enlightened 
criticism  ?  "  "  True,"  it  is  replied  ;  "  but  the  advantage  of 
the  former  hypothesis,  if  logically  tenable,  is,  that  it  cannot  be 
abused ;  it  has  its  own  securities  against  that :  we  see  from 
the  conditions  of  the  transmission,  not  of  the  Bible  only,  but 
of  all  literature,  that  the  amount  of  error  is  within  moderate 
limits  ;  that  it  continually  tends  to  disappear  in  the  course  of 
discussion  and  investigation  ;  and,  lastly,  that  the  evidence  by 
which  we  are  to  decide  such  points,  —  history,  criticism,  phi 
lology,  —  however  difficult,  is  fairly  within  the  grasp  of  our 
faculties,  and  is  ultimately  subject  to  them.  But  the  other 
hypothesis  has  no  such  safeguards ;  it  is  infinitely  liable  to 
abuse.  If  it  be  admitted  that  the  writers,  from  whose  state 
ments  alone  we  can  tell  what  Christianity  is,  have  in  many 
cases,  and  to  an  indeterminate  extent,  been  misled  by  falla 
cies  in  reasoning  and  inaccuracy  of  information,  what  have 
we  to  reply  to  him  who  will  apply  the  same  principle  further  ; 
who  says,  '  I  think,  d  priori,  this  and  this,  and  this  and  this, 
improbable,  fanciful,  illogical,  false,'  — and  who  proceeds  to 
reject  what  is  essential  to  the  Christian  system  ?  "  The  advo 
cate  of  the  second  hypothesis  may  justly  reply  :  "  He  cannot 


THEIR   CLAIMS   AND   CONFLICTS.  455 

do  this,  if  (as  I  do)  he  admits  the  preponderant  evidence  for 
the  New  Testament ;  he  cannot,  so  long  as  he  has  a  particle 
of  candor  left,  deny  that  there  are  some  statements  which 
are  essential ;  though  it  may  not  be  always  easy  to  discrimi 
nate  them.  What  can  it  matter  to  Christianity  if  we  suppose 
Matthew  or  John  to  have  erred  in  fixing  the  precise  hour  of 
the  crucifixion,  or  whether  the  supper  at  Bethany  was  six  or 
two  days  before  the  last  Passover  ?  "  "  True,"  would  be  the 
reply,  "  and  I  fully  believe  that  you  have  the  candor  to  admit, 
and  the  perspicacity  to  see,  the  very  moderate  limits  within 
^which  your  hypothesis  should  be  applied  ;  but  surely  it  is  bet 
ter,  if  evidence  will  permit  it,  to  have  a  firmer  security  against 
the  want  of  candor  or  the  want  of  sagacity  in  others ;  for 
this  reason  I  still  prefer  the  former  hypothesis  :  —  but  as  be 
tween  MS,  and  betw.een  any  minds,  who,  admitting  the  gener 
al  evidence  for  the  truth  of  Christianity,  honestly  apply  them 
selves  to  the  interpretation  of  its  records,  there  is  no  contro 
versy  worth  waging,  —  for  there  will  be  no  substantial  differ 
ence." 

The  advocates  of  both  hypotheses  may  plead  that  neither 
party  is  called  to  give  an  account  of  the  residuum  of  insoluble 
objections  ;  that  they  give  their  assent  to  conclusions  estab 
lished  by  a  vast  preponderance  of  proof  independent  of  these 
objections,  and  are  no  more  bound  to  give  a  positive  solution 
of  them,  than  a  judge  is  bound  to  reconcile  a  few  remaining 
discrepancies  in  evidence  which  is  supported  by  a  large  ex 
cess  of  probabilities  in  favor  of  his  decision. 

This  course  of  procedure  is  plainly  the  dictate  of  common 
sense  ;  and  is  a  course  better  understood,  it  appears,  in  phi 
losophy  than  in  theology,  and  in  relation  to  natural  theology 
than  in  relation  to  revealed. 

When  the  philosopher  finds  some  phenomena  at  apparent 
variance  with  a  general  law,  founded  on  a  large  induction,  he 
does  not  proceed  to  abandon  his  conclusion,  but  waits  with 
patience  for  further  light ;  pretty  confident  that  it  will  come 
in  time,  and  perfectly  confident  that,  if  it  never  comes,  he  will 


456  REASON   AND   FAITH  : 

not  be  justified  on  this  account  in  abandoning  a  conclusion 
supported  by  a  thousand  facts,  because  it  is  found  opposed  to 
one.  In  the  same  manner  the  theist  (convinced,  by  an  im 
mense  array  of  proofs,  of  the  Divine  wisdom  and  benevo 
lence)  does  not  allow  his  conclusion  to  be  falsified  because 
he  stumbles  at  facts  which  he  cannot  reconcile  with  either. 
He  waits  for  further  light,  and  exercises  the  faith  as  well  as 
the  reason  of  a  philosopher. 

But  "  O  these  insupportable  evidences  ! "  many  minds  in 
the  present  day  are  ready  to  exclaim.  "  Are  we  to  find  our 
way  to  truth  through  all  these  tangled  mazes  of  learning  and 
criticism  ?  Cannot  a  man  be  a  Christian  without  traversing 
these  labyrinths  ? " 

Assuredly  he  may.  It  is  happily  no  more  necessary  that 
a  man  should  have  examined,  with  the  utmost  degree  of  ex 
actness,  the  whole  field  of  the  Christian  Evidences,  than  that 
he  must  be  a  profound  astronomer  before  he  can  be  qualified 
to  embrace  the  Copernican  theory.  A  few  great  facts  are, 
on  most  subjects,  sufficient  to  form  the  convictions  of  men  ; 
profound  knowledge  in  each  is  left  to  those  who  are  neces 
sitated,  or  predisposed,  or  at  leisure  to  attain  it ;  and  even  that 
profound  knowledge  is  profound  only  by  comparison  :  in  ref 
erence  to  the  possible  knowledge  of  any  subject,  any  man's 
actual  knowledge  may  well  be  called  superficial.  Nor  is 
there  any  in  which  the  exactest  study  will  not  disclose  a  thou 
sand  difficulties,  and  provoke  a  thousand  controversies.  What 
then  ?  That  fact  does  not  disturb  our  convictions,  nor  engage 
us  in  a  life-long  study  of  the  minutise  of  any  one  subject ;  — 
if  it  did,  we  should  never  go  to  another,  for  we  should  never 
have  exhausted  that  one.  Ethics,  Politics,  Law,  and  Medicine, 
quite  as  much  as  Theology,  furnish  us  with  abundant  exam 
ples  of  satisfactory  conviction  and  resolute  practice  on  very 
unsatisfactory  and  imperfect  knowledge. 

Nor,  thorny  as  may  be  the  controversies  in  which  the  infi 
del  may  involve  the  Christian,  or  in  which  the  Christian  may 


THEIR    CLAIMS   AND    CONFLICTS.  457 

involve  himself,  if  he  be  resolved  to  investigate  this  subject 
with  the  greatest  possible  degree  of  minuteness,  are  they 
more  thorny  than  those  common  to  any  other  subject,  where 
the  appeal  is  to  "  moral  evidence,"  and  where,  moreover,  the 
perception  of  the  force  of  that  evidence  depends,  in  some 
measure,  on  an  unprejudiced  mind  and  a  rectified  will ;  where, 
as  Pascal  says,  "  the  heart "  is  apt  to  whisper  its  "  reasons, 
which  the  reason  cannot  comprehend."  Hence  no  truth, 
such  is  the  condition  of  humanity,  is  established  without  con 
flict  and  controversy  ;  and  even  then  it  is  by  a  very  tardy 
process. 

Lastly,  it  may  be  asked,  whether  those  professed  Chris 
tians,  who  in  these  days  decry  the  Christian  Evidences,  find 
less  controversy  necessary  to  the  establishment  of  any  other 
basis  of  religious  truth  ?  Do  they  find  it  at  all  more  easy  to 
establish  among  mankind  the  claims  of  their  "  insight," — 
their  "  natural  light,"  —  their  "  religious  instinct,"  —  their 
"  intuitional  consciousness  "  ?  Can  they  make  their  oracle 
utter  a  uniform  response  ?  Can  they  convince  the  bulk  Of 
men  that  it  is  an  unambiguous  oracle  at  all  ?  Are  its  nature, 
—  powers,  —  limits, —  decisions,  —  less  subject  to  doubt  and 
disputation,  than  the  evidences  of  Christianity  ?  Are  the  met 
aphysical  and  ethical  problems  to  which  the  one  gives  rise, 
more  easy  of  solution  than  the  historical  problems  involved  in 
the  other  ?  Few  will  affirm  it,  who  know  what  the  history  of 
Metaphysics  and  Ethics  really  is. 

On  the  other  hand,  are  those  who  maintain  that  we  are  to 
refer,  amidst  these  difficulties,  to  an  infallible  human  oracle, 
able  to  prevail  on  mankind  to  admit  either  its  necessity  or  its 
possibility  ?  Are  they  without  disputes  themselves  in  whom 
the  infallibility  resides,  —  or  as  to  how  far  it  extends  ? 

We  must  be  contented  with  our  lot.  On  no  hypothesis,  by 
no  artifice,  can  man  evade  those  difficulties  which  form  the 
necessary  discipline,  the  alternate  exercise  of  his  Reason  and 
his  Faith,  and  by  which  he  is  trained  to  docility,  humility,  and 
patience.  The  condition  of  man  will  ever  be  that  so  forcibly 
39 


458  REASON   AND    FAITH. 

painted  in  one  of  the  fragments  of  Pascal :  "  II  faut  avoir  ces 
trois  qualites  :  pyrrhonien,  geometre,  chretien  soumis ;  et 
elles  s'accordent  et  se  temperent  en  doutant  ou  il  faut,  en  as- 
surant  ou  il  faut,  en  se  soumettant  ou  il  faut." 


THE    END. 


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Order  of  the  Events  to  which   they   relate.     With  Introductions  and 
Notes,  by  THOMAS  BDLFINCH.     16mo.     Price,  87£  cents. 

From  a  Letter  of  REV.  DR.  JAMES  WALKER,  President  of  Harvard  College. 
"  I  have  looked  it  over,  and  have  been  greatly  pleased  with  it,  throughout.  Not  only  is 
the  literary  execution  such  as  to  bring  out  the  unequalled  devotional  beauty  and  sublimity  of 
those  ancient  lyrics,  for  the  benefit  of  general  readers ;  but  it  must  also  add,  as  it  seems  to  me, 
and  not  a  little,  to  their  moral  and  religious  effect  I  cannot  conceive  of  a  better  book  to 
be  read  in  the  daily  devotions  of  the  family;  the  introduction  to  the  Psalm  and  the  Psalm 
being  read  together." 


WILLIAM  MOUNTFORD'S  WORKS. 

EDITED  BY  REV.  F.  D.  HUNTINGTON. 
Martyria, 

MARTYRIA;  A  Legend,  wherein  are  contained  Homilies,  Conversa 
tions,  and  Incidents  of  the  Reign  of  Edward  the  Sixth.  Second  Ameri 
can  Edition.  16mo.  Price,  75  cents. 

"  There  is  scarcely  a  page  which  does  not  contain  some  fine  strain  of  thought  or  senti 
ment,  over  which  you  shut  the  book  that  you  may  pause  and  meditate. 

"  We  recommend  the  volume  to  our  readers,  with  the  assurance  that  they  will  find  few 
works  in  the  current  literature  of  the  day  so  well  worth  perusal."  —  Christian  Register. 

Christianity  the  Deliverance  of  the  Soul, 

CHRISTIANITY  THE  DELIVERANCE  OF  THE  SOUL  AND  ITS 
LIFE.  16mo.  Price,  37i  cents. 

"  Mr.  Mountford  is  full  of  warm  religious  feeling.  He  brings  religion  home  to  the  heart, 
and  applies  it  as  the  guide  of  life."  —  London  Inquirer. 

"  It  is  full  of  thought,  and  instinct  with  spiritual  life."  —  Christian  Examiner. 


Euthanasy. 

EUTHANASY;    OR: HAPPY  TALK   TOWARDS  THE   END  OF 
LIFE.     Third  American  Edition.     16mo.     Price,  $1.00. 

"  This  is  a  book  which  will  prove  an  incalculable  treasure  to  those  who  are  in  sorrow 
and  bereavement,  and  cannot  be  perused  by  any  thoughtful  mind  without  pleasure  and 
improvement."  —  Christian  Examiner. 


Crosby,  Nlchols^and  Company's  List  of  New  Books. 
The  Christian  Parent, 

THE   CHRISTIAN   PARENT.     By  Rev.  A.  B.  MUZZEY,  Author  of 
"  The  Young  Maiden,"  &c.,  &c.     16mo.     Price,  75  cents. 

"  We  regard  the  book  as  one  of  the  best  of  its  kind  which  has  appeared  for  several  years 

and  we  would,  after  a  careful  perusal  of  this  volume,  own  our  obligations  to  the 

author  for  very  many  valuable  hints  and  suggestions  set  forth  with  clearness  and  force." 
Cambridge  Chronicle. 


The  Stars  and  the  Earth, 

THE  STARS  AND  THE  EARTH  ;  OR  THOUGHTS  UPON 
SPACE,  TIME,  AND  ETERNITY.  Second  American  from  the 
Third  London  Edition.  18mo.  Price,  25  cents. 

***  This  work  will  be  sent  by  mail  to  any  person  who  will  inclose  us  the  amount  in 
postage  stamps. 

"  It  contains  a  vast  amount  of  thought,  clothed  in  a  religious  garb,  arid  throughout 
which  flows  an  exalted  view  of  argument,  inducing  lofty  aspirations  and  clearer  views  of 
the  wisdom  of  our  Creator,  as  the  reader  proceeds  step  by  step  from  the  opening  page  to 
the  close."  —  Taunton  Whig. 


Echoes  of  Infant  Voices, 


ECHOES  OF  INFANT   VOICES.     16mo.     Price,  50  cents. 

"The  selections  are  made  with  good  taste  and  judgment,  from  the  best  English  and 
American  poetry  of  Caroline  Bowles,  Mrs.  Hemans,  Longfellow.  Lowell,  Bryant,  W.  B  O. 
Peabody,  and  others.  The  little  work  seems  admirably  calculated  to  accomplish  its  mis 
sion  of  sympathy  and  kindness."  —  Cambridge  Chronicle. 


Religious  Thoughts  and  Opinions  of  a  Statesman, 

RELIGIOUS  THOUGHTS  AND  OPINIONS  OF  A  STATESMAN. 

By  WILHELM  VON  HUMBOLDT.     16mo.     Price,  62£  cents. 

"  No  one  needs  to  be  told  who  the  author  is,  so  world-wide  is  his  fame  ;  but  many  may 
be  surprised,  though  we  would  trust  delighted,  to  find  the  profound  Oriental  scholar,  the 
great  statesman,  the  man  of  wealth  and  of  rank,  so  fully  imbued  with  the  Christian  spirit, 
and  evidently  acting  upon  its  principles  in  all  the  vast  subjects  and  concerns  which  occu 
pied  his  life."—  Christian  Inquirer. 


Thoughts  on  Self- Culture, 

THOUGHTS  ON  SELF-CULTURE,  ADDRESSED  TO  WOMEN. 
By  MARIA  G.  GREY,  and  her  Sister,  EMILY  SHIRREFF.  1  vol.  12mo. 
Price,  $1.00. 

"  We  have  never  perused  a  work,  addressed  to  women,  more  full  of  practical  common- 
sense Our  beau  ideal  of  womanhood  was  never  so  well  depicted  as  in  this  vol 
ume."  —  Ladies'  National  Magazine. 


Crosby,  Nichols,  and  Company's  List  of  New  Books. 

THE   ECLIPSE   OF   FAITH; 

OR, 

A  VISIT  TO  A  RELIGIOUS  SCEPTIC. 

BY    HENRY    ROGERS. 

THIRD    EDITION. 
1vol.    12mo.    pp.468.    Price,  $1.25. 

"  We  warmly  commend  it  to  universal  perusal,  as  perhaps  the  most  val 
uable,  and  certainly  the  most  brilliant,  contribution  to  the  treasury  of  the 
*  Evidences,'  which  has  been  made  during  the  present  century."  —  London 
Eclectic  Review. 

"  Written  with  great  spirit,  with  unusual  logical  ability,  and  with  a  com 
plete  mastery  of  the  subject."  —  Christian  Register. 

"  Our  readers,  then,  will  perceive  that  they  are  not  likely  to  encounter 
in  the  Eclipse  of  Faith,  at  any  rate,  a  dull  book It  is  a  book  calcu 
lated  —  and  this,  probably,  was  the  pious  and  worthy  object  of  the  author 

—  to  give  pause  to  many  a  flashy  young  man  in  his  too  ready  assumption 
of  some  of  the  unbelieving  theories  of  our  time."  —  Prospective  Review. 

"  We  know  of  no  book  on  the  subjects  of  which  it  treats  which  is  in  so 
readable  a  form,  and  yet  so  thoroughly  annihilates  these  lights  of  modern 
days,  and  carries  us  back  with  such  a  relish  to  the  old  and  long-tried  doc 
trines  of  the  Bible  and  the  simple  faith  which  it  enjoins." — JYeio  York 
(Baptist)  Recorder. 

"  The  author  of  this  book  is  Mr.  Henry  Rogers,  well  known  as  one  of 
the  ablest  recent  contributors  to  the  Edinburgh  Review."  —  Portsmouth 
Journal. 

"  There  is  an  elevation  in  the  tone  of  the  work,  an  ease  and  elegance  in 
the  style,  and  a  force  in  its  logic,  which  will  place  it  high  among  books  on 

the  evidences Whoever  has  written  it  has  done  a  noble  work."  — 

Cincinnati  Herald. 

"  His  mode  of  treating  the  subject  is  simple  and  direct,  and  such  as  will 
fix  and  retain  the  reader's  attention  from  the  beginning  to  the  end."  — 
Worcester  Paper. 

"  We  have  for  some  time  been  looking  for  the  appearance  of  a  volume 
whose  subject-matter  and  aim  should  be  precisely  those  of  the  work  before 
us."  —  Christian  Examiner. 

"  One  of  the  works  we  like  to  have  men  read."  —  Trumpet. 

"  We  greatly  mistake  if  it  does  not  prove  to  be  one  of  the  hardest  things 
that  Infidelity  on  either  side  of  the  water  has  had  to  digest  for  many  a  day." 

—  Puritan  Recorder. 

"  One  of  the  most  valuable  contributions  of  the  present  century  to  theo 
logical  literature."  —  Literary  World. 

"  It  unites  to  an  almost  unprecedented  degree,  raciness  of  style,  strong 
dramatic  interest,  sound  reasoning,  and  profound  religious  sensibility.  We 
cannot  but  anticipate  for  it  a  blessed  mission."  —  Portsmouth  Journal. 


Crosby -,  Nichols,  and  Company's  List  of  New  Books. 
Memoir  of  Mrs,  Ware, 

MEMOIR  OF  MARY  L.  WARE,  Wife  of  Henry  Ware,  Jr.  By  Rev. 
EDWARD  B.  HALL.  With  a  fine  engraving  on  steel.  Fourth  Edition. 
12mo.  Price,  $1.25. 

"A  book  like  this  is  a  great  gift  to  the  world.    It  is  a  light  in  the  pathway  of  every-day 

j!'6 It  is  a  judicious,  affectionate  record  of  a  strong,  earnest,  consistent  Christian 

J'te «  is  delightful  to  see  a  character  so  thoroughly  religious  as  was  Mrs.  Ware's. 

Mary  and  Martha  met  in  her.  She  loved  to  sit  at  Jesus's  feet ;  but  she  never  forgot  that  there 
must  be  work  as  well  as  worship,  —  service  as  well  as  sentiment."  —  Buffalo  Commercial 
Advertiser. 

"  In  many  respects,  Mrs.  Ware  is  a  very  model ;  we  could  not  doubt  her  genuine  godli 
ness,  nor  withhold  any  thing  from  the  admiration  due  to  exalted  worth.  The  reader  will 
agree  with  us,  that  it  is  a  work  of  great  interest."  —  New  York  Evangelist. 

"  Let  no  one,  —especially,  let  no  woman,  neglect  to  read  this  book.  One  can  hardly  fail 
to  be  made  better  by  a  perusal  of  it."  —  Portland  Advertiser. 

"  Among  the  biographies  of  Christian  women,  eminent  for  their  piety,  their  meek  devo 
tion  to  their  religious  profession,  and  their  holy  conduct  in  all  the  walks  of  life,  this  Memoir 
of  Mrs.  Ware  deserves  to  take  a  high  rank."  —  Philadelphia  Bulletin 


Mrs,  Ware  at  Osmotherly, 

THE  SICKNESS  AND   HEALTH   OF   THE  PEOPLE  OF  BLEA- 
BURN.     1  vol.     16mo.     Price,  50  cents. 

"  Mrs.  Ware  '  the  Good  Lady ' !  And  what  woman  ever  better  deserved  this  title  given 
her  by  '  the  people  of  Bleaburn '  ?  For,  reader,  this  little  tale  is  of  her,  and  of  her  Chris 
tian  doings  during  her  visit  at  Osmotherly;  and  if  you  are  so  unfortunate  as  to  know 
nothing  of  her  or  of  her  doings,  do  not  content  yourself  with  this  little  tale  ;  but  after 
reading  this,  go  forthwith  and  buy  Dr.  Hall's  Memoir  of  her,  and  read,  mark  learn  and 
inwardly  digest  its  beautiful  illustration  of  what  a  true  Christian  woman  may  be  and  do." 
—  Christian  Inquirer. 

"The  story  is  one  that  no  person  will  think  of  laying  down,  when  once  they  begin  to 
read  it,  until  the  last  word  of  the  last  page  has  been  reached."  —  Traveller. 


Reminiscences  of  Thought  and  Feeling, 

REMINISCENCES  OF  THOUGHT  AND  FEELING.    By  the  Author 
of  "  Visiting  my  Relations."     IGrno.     Price,  75  cents. 

"A  very  interesting,  piquant  book,  and  every  body  is  reading  it It  will  do  a 

great  deal  of  good  by  clearing  up  people's  morbid  moods  of  mind,  and  showing  that  an  en 
tire  trust  and  reliance  on  God  are  the  best  medicine  of  the  heart.  This  work  shows  how 
valuable  a  book  can  be  written  out  of  the  history  of  a  private  life."  —  Cincinnati  Paper. 


Mrs.  Ghadwick's  Cook-Book, 

HOME  COOKERY :  a  Collection  of  Tried  Receipts,  both  Foreign 
and  Domestic.  By  Mrs.  J.  CHADWICK,  Second  Edition.  12mo.  Price 
50  cents. 

"The  ladies  say,  and  they  always  say  what  is  true,  that  this  is  a  very  good  cook-book 
It  is  cookery  brought  up  to  the  present  time,  —  the  latest  inventions,  —  suited  to  the  state 
of  the  market,  and  the  nineteenth  century,  generally."  —  Cincinnati  Paper 

• 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
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RENEWED  BOOKS  ARE  SUBJECT  TO  IMMEDIATE 
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LIBRARY,   UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS 

Book  Slip-50m-8,'66(G5530s4)45& 


N9  506702 


Rogers,  H. 

Reason  and 
faith. 


BR85 
R63 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


